


Letters to an Overseas Lover

by Madmyers13



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 1940's au, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Cute, Fanonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Hurt Lance (Voltron), Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, McClain siblings, Original Character(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Sad, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), WW2 AU, WW2Klance, War, World War II, klance, maybe?? - Freeform, segrigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madmyers13/pseuds/Madmyers13
Summary: March 2, 1941; A sergeant from the military came bargaining into his home saying that the following people needed to be at the Garrison Shuttle at 0900 hours the next morning for their new military positions in a secret base in Germany : Marco McClain - Coordinator /\ Rachel McClain - Nurse /\ Lance McClain - Soldier





	1. INTRODUCTIONS

HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE FANFICTION

 

The story after this intro is Letter to An Overseas Lover and this chapter is meant to keep notes for myself and the audience when they get confused on parts of the story.

This fanfic was inspired by an artist names Catneylang on Instagram who said in an Insta Story that she wanted to read a WW2 Klance fic, so I was inspired and started writing it days after the initial ask (Not really tho)

This is mostly written for me to get more in touch with period-centric writing so enjoy

ALSO MY TIMING MAY BE OFF BECAUSE I NEVER PAID ATTENTION IN MY HISTORY CLASSES AND GOOGLED MOST OF THE TIMING

 

WARNING

THIS IS VERY PERIOD-TYPICAL 1940'S WHERE PEOPLE OF COLOR WERE SENT TO FIGHT BUT WERE STILL GIVEN NO RESPECT SO DONT GET THAT MAD

 

NOTES

/\/\/\

Timeframe - World War II after America joined the fight (1941-1945)

Places - Germany, Town on the edge of Arizona & Cali border

(Mostly) Reoccuring People - Keith, Lance, Hunk, Allura, Pidge, Romelle, Shiro, Adam, Veronica, Rachel, Marco, Krolia

 

CHARACTER AGES (non-canon)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lance - 18

Hunk - 18

Pidge - 16

Romelle - 17

Kieth - 17

Allura - 17

Veronica - 24

Rachel - 20

Marco - 21

Shiro - 25

Adam - 25

 

LETTER WRITERS

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lance

_Keith_

_Hunk_

** _Pidge_ **

**Romelle**

_**Allura** _

 

Now enjoy your previously intended fanfic

Also, if you would like to draw fanfic for this fic go ahead and tag it under #WW2Klance


	2. drafting away

Lance wouldn’t define himself on specialties. He was a down to earth man. He had a big family―the youngest of five children―growing up on the edge of the Arizona and California border. He grew up in a town in the middle of nowhere that was difficult to get mail to but he didn’t mind it, because he didn’t need to send in letters when the love of his life was already with him.

They spent countless nights running around their town before deciding to climb up the only hill in the place and watch the stars. They would go to the local diner, the Balmera, after school and throw french fries at each other. They would go over to each other’s houses for dinner then dance in the parlor with each other's families. Or the time the two of them made a list of places and times they wanted to make out at without getting caught. It was specialties like these Lance defined himself on.

How when they got the go-ahead to go camping in the nearby deserts Lance would spend hours awake with his eyes burning because he didn’t want to take them off of the relaxed face of the person next to him. Of the soft skin that enticed him, the violet eyes that excited him, the raven bangs that shaped the face that always made him smile and the long locks in the back that always hid the porcelain skin Lance loved to dig his nose into to get some laughter.

Lance wouldn’t admit it outwardly to anyone, but he was deeply in love with Keith Kogane.

They were an odd pair people would see together, but no one complained. Due to their small amounts of racism in their town, as long as the Korean and Cuban stayed away from the white kids, no one batted an eye at them. But if they knew what they really were, then they would be shot dead on sight. Mostly because it was unheard of for a Cuban and Korean couple to happen, much less for it being  _ two boys _ .

No one knew about their relationship outside their friend group, and even then it was only a few people. Allura, Romelle, Pidge, and Hunk were their friends.

Romelle and Pidge were white females and were being guarded at all costs to be kept away from black kids, but they were too engrossed in Martin Luther King’s movement for anyone to try to stop them.

Hunk was a beautiful Samoan man and lived on the edge of town near the train tracks. His family made the best pastries in town, and nobody, not even the whites, could argue that they weren’t the best.

Allura moved from London to their small town to escape. She was well into her late teens like the rest of them and took racist comments better than anyone Lance knew of, its why he was fond of her when she first moved into their small town, but Keith was the one to grab his attention.

The two were lucky their friend group was okay with their relationship, and then that sparked a new outcome they didn’t expect.

Their entire friend group coming out.

Romelle admitted she loved females.

Allura said she loved both males and females.

Pidge said she had no sexual or romantic attraction to anyone.

Hunk said he loved everyone.

The six ended up crying the entire night over how long it took them to realize that they were like a pack of minorities.

“We’re like a pack of lions,” Hunk joked in the mists of their laughter and tears. “People are intimidated by us at first before they get to see that we’re all softies.”

Lance had never agreed more.

But today should have been a normal day. He was walking with Keith to their next class and threw his arm over his shoulders in a way that his schoolmates had seen him do to Hunk too many times before. The group went to a school that was very distinctly different from the whites school across town.

Over there at the Galran Academy of Excellence, they dawned blood red slack or skirts, with a purple sweater vest over a blood red button-up with a black tie. The girl's hair always had to be in a ponytail or cut to her collarbones with it half up and the boys had to have their hair cut in a certain way.

At Lance's school—Altea Academy of Freedom—they wore baby blue slacks or skirts with a white button up and baby blue ties. Their hair was their only expressive piece, and most people wore it in their natural wavy/braided/curly/voluptuous form. Lance wasn’t one to argue about the school's differences, but Pidge and Romelle were. They found it extremely unfair that they had to be separated from their friends and were the uncomfortable red and purple uniforms. The two wanted nothing more than to go to Altea Academy, so on days where no one was looking the two would sneak in and act like exchange students from London.

No one at Altea batted an eye at them, mostly because students and teachers alike knew they were the ones putting equal rights posters up around the town. They wouldn’t complain or tell Galran Academy two of their students were there. They would just let them have a day where they looked more relaxed. Pidge and Romelle sneaking into the school had become a bi-weekly occurrence.

But nonetheless, it should have been a normal day.

Lance slung his arm over Keith's shoulders and grinned happily at him. “So Keith, I was thinkin’ after school you could teach me some more chemistry.”

“Lance, as much as I want to teach you how to give a hickey that will last three months, I already promised my mom that I was going to fix our radio.” Keith chuckled as Lance groaned, his arm falling from his shoulder. “It’s been bugging out for days and she wants to know about the war efforts.”

“C’Mon Mullet! When was the last time we spent some quality time alone together?” Lance groaned, his voice quieter at the end of his question.

“Last weekend when I tutored you in English.”

“That doesn’t count, your mom walked in right when we were—”

Keith's ears turned a slight shade of pink as he jabbed Lance in the ribs with his elbow. Lance hissed at it but laughed nonetheless. “We were still alone. God go to class Sharpshooter.”

“Will do Samurai.” Lance winked and walked off to his classroom. He sat in his normal seat and like Lance did, he didn’t pay attention.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to pay attention, but the school had never interested him as it did for Hunk and Allura. He always found himself dozing off at some point and needing to get the notes from his classmates. His teachers never called him out for it, so he saw no problem with it. He did his homework, aced the tests and was one of the more average students in the grade.

He often thought about their town. How it was considered small even though it was 50,000 people—making it a large town. He thought about his family and how he was treated like a baby for being the youngest when Rachel was only two years older than him. He thought about how much of a disaster it would be if Lance came out to his family as bisexual, and how it would probably end up worse if they knew about the hours he spent in the library researching his sexuality. He thought about how it was adorable how he could make Keith blush so easily.

By the end of the school day, he had slung his arm over Keith’s shoulders again as Allura and Hunk started to walk home with them. They all had driver's license—they were eighteen for god sake so they should have had them—but none of them had cars...well Keith had a half working motorcycle left by his dad, but that was it.

“Are you two heading to the Balmera? I’d kill for a milkshake right now,” Allura grinned ear to ear.

“I’m fixing my radio today,” Keith nervously laughed, shrugging Lances arm off his shoulder.

“We can bring you something,” Hunk smiled. “Then we can invite Romelle and Pidge over and listen to some stations!”

“Yeah!” Allura grinned. “There’s this channel—98.6—it has the best talk show about chemistry—”

“Boring,” Lance groaned. “C’Mon guys! We’re basically adults! Why don’t we go do something like rob a bank or fight in the war.”

The other three fell silent. Lance kept walking while the others stopped in their tracks. He slowly turned around to them, lifting a brow. “Lance, do you really want to go over there?” Hunk asked, his voice shaking.

Lance scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s dangerous but if we need to fight we need to fight. I’m eighteen, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got drafted.”

“You won’t get drafted. They still have troops—”

“They’re losing troops every day to those Nazi’s! I could help!” Lance furrowed his brows in anger, his hands balling into fists.

“Lance do you really want to risk dying so young?” Allura asked. “You’re right, you’re eighteen, so that should give you more of a fear to be drafted.”

“You guys don’t understand,” Lance growled. “Veronica is already over there and—and she’s all alone!”

“She’s a flight specialist Lance. It’s her job to be in a war zone to tell planes where to drop bombs and where to nosedive.” Keith stepped forward and took Lance's hand in his. He unfurled it from its fist, laying it smoothly with his. He ran his thumb over Lance's knuckles gently. “Do you really want to go to a war zone just to make sure your sister is safe?” She had been over there for a little more than a year.

“You know I’d do anything for my family, Keith,” Lance whispered. “I don’t want my Mama to get a letter from the military saying her oldest girl was killed or missing in action or—”

“This is Veronica you’re talking about Lance,” Hunk chuckled. “She’s not gonna die. She fought that kid from Galran Academy for calling you a working slave—was his name?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Keith shook his head. “Lance, please tell me you didn’t take the armies physical exam?” Lance looked at his feet. “Oh, Lance.” Keith sounded defeated, a sad tone resonating in his voice.

“They said I was in tip-top shape and that if they needed me I’d be one of the first they’d send for.” Lance stepped back from Keith, adjusting the bag on his shoulder before looking up at his friends. They all looked heartbroken. “I uh, I need to get home. Promised my Mama I’d help her cook tonight and my brother is bringing his kids over so we got a lot of mouths to feed. See ya.”

“Wait, Lance—” Before Hunk could finish Lance was already sprinting towards his house.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

The knock on their door made Marco turn the music down and Rachel stop swinging Nadia around. Luis and Lisa were sitting on the couch, reading Sylvio a book. Lance stopped humming the song on the radio and turned his head to the door. His father was sitting in his lounge chair, a cigarette bud being pushed into the ashtray as his mother whipped her hands off. “Is Keith coming to dinner?” She looked up at Lance. He shook his head, whipping his hands off and making it to the door before his father.

“Hello?” Lance cocked a brow as he opened the door. His eyes shrunk at the sight of the gray and orange suit in front of him. A Garrison Uniform. A higher up in the American Army.

“Are you the head of the household?”

“Uh no,” Lance stood up straighter. He felt a hand on his shoulder, looking at his father as he slightly pushed Lance out of the way.

“May I help you?”

“Are you the head of the household?”

“Yes.” Lance stood in fear, his eyes going wide as he turned his head back to his siblings. 

“I am Sergeant Monastery. May I come in?” The Sergeant asked. 

Lance watched as his father moved out of the way and was let into the house. The man was tall, a large build and his hair were buzzed under the gray cap on his head. His blue eyes were blank, and Lance feared for the people who would try to challenge this man at war. He didn’t mention the fact that this was a house of Cubans, and that there was a white woman on the couch. He just simply walked into the house, stood in the living room before turning to Lance and eyeing him.

No one noticed the file in his hand until he was bringing it up to his face to read.”What might we help you with?” Luis asked, standing from the couch. He ushered Nadia to Lisa who escorted both of their children out of the room. Marco walked to Rachel, placing a hand on her shoulder as she started to shake.

The man cleared his throat. “I am Sergeant Monastery and I am a recruiter for the Garrison Sector. We handle all outposts and support incoming troops by providing ways to mail to family while at war.

“I have been given notice that all people in this household have taken a physical in the last three months and only three have been recommended for recruitment, one of them have already taken the military physical exam. The following people I will state will be given a new statue and will need to be at the shuttle in front of Garlan Academy of Excellence at 0900 hours tomorrow. I need Marco McClain as a coordinator. I need Rachel McClain as a nurse—”

Lance’s mother was shaking with tears streaming down her face as he handed the papers to his father. He wasn’t shaking, but the small tears leaving the corners of his eyes would speak volumes no one knew of.

“Lastly, I need Lance McClain as a soldier.”

Lance caught his mother before she fell over. She pressed her head into his shoulder, whispering words to him to not leave her. Her soft Spanish words broke through the house as he rubbed her back, his eyes going to his siblings as Rachel had turned into Marco, her body shaking more violently as Luis stood wide-eyed.

“Are you sure you have the last one right?” Lance whipped his head to his father so fast he heard his neck crack, but he ignored it as his father sputtered more. “You have to mean Luis—Lance is my youngest child you can’t—He’s my youngest—I—”

“I have all names here and finalized,” Sergeant Monastery patted the papers in his hands. “Your youngest Lance is the only one who took the Military Physical Exam. His grade are high enough to get him the soldier statue. Consider yourself lucky he wasn’t assigned to be a suicide diver like they intended.”   
  
Lances mouth gapped.

He was going to war. This was it.

He was going to protect his family, even if they were with him.

A chill went down his spine at the thought.

He was going to a war zone, he knew he would be if he was sent to the front lines. He  _ knew _ this. But suddenly, he felt terrified. He was eighteen and going to war to kill people that deserved to be killed, but he could be killed too.

Lance helped his mother stand, and by the time she was at her feet, Luis was in Lances place in her arms. He wasn’t going. The oldest brother, the biggest guy in the room, wasn’t fighting in the war. Lance wondered what went wrong for him not to go through, he was perfectly healthy.

“Why can’t Luis go in Lances place? Or Rachels?” Lance looked at his father again. The papers that were once in his hands were now sitting on the kitchen table.

“Rachel has medical training that we need. Your eldest cannot go because of the medical condition of his son, who yes, we considered in case the war went on for longer than fifteen years.”

“It’s been three years! Why can’t you just leave my family—”

“What’s wrong with my son?” Luis spoke louder, worry in his voice.

 

“Just dental issues that could be life-threatening. Nothing dentists can’t fix if taken in immediately but you’re also reaching the age limit of people we take in, and we don’t want to risk it.” Sergeant Monastery turned back to Lance’s father. Lances ears were ringing.

He was going to war.

Keith would be—Keith. He needed to get to Keith.

Before he knew what he was doing he was behind his father, stuffing on his shoes and grabbing his olive green jacket.

“Lance where are you going!” His father shouted.

“I gotta tell my friends! They’ll be so excited!” Lance shouted, waving the papers in his hand. Paper?

He shoved his arms through the holes of his sleeves and ran. By the time he got to Keith's house he was out of breath, his mind a mumbling mess of static and his ears felt as if they were filled with cotton. He couldn’t hear the conversations he heard inside, but he recognized the voices.

Hunks.

Allura’s.

Pidges.

Romelle’s.

Keith’s Mom—Krolia.

Matt’s.

Sam’s.

Colleen’s.

Keith’s.

He had never banged on a door so hard in his entire life.

It pulled open and Krolia let out an exacerbated breath, holding a hand to her chest. “Jesus Lance. You scared the daylights out of us.”

“Uh—Sorry.” Lance heaved as Krolia let him into the house. His hands were shaking and he was clutching the papers in his hands harder. He looked down at them. One was his military informant sheet. Things he could bring, things that had to be left, and things that would be provided. The place he was being sent and the dates the mail could be sent and be received. The other one was a list— _ the _ list the two had made.

“Lance?” He looked up at Keith. “I thought you had dinner with your family—”

“I’ve been drafted.” Lance bursted, holding out the paper in front of him. Eyes were on him and they were wide. They itched his skin as Pidge took the paper and read it over, her eyes growing wider as she read along.

“Lance this is a very excellent forgery but—”

“I got drafted tonight ‘n I leave tomorrow morning so I need you all to write down your addresses so I can mail you—”

“Lance!” He looked at Keith. Water was etching at the edge of his eyelids. He was standing up, hands shaking with soft music playing behind him from the radio. He must have fixed it, Keith was always good at fixing things. Keith took a step forward, wobbling slightly before taking another step then dropping to his knees. His hands were in front of him, head down as he slowly clutched his hands against the carpet. “Lance you can’t go...” Keith was shaking.

Lance walked to him, bending down in front of him. He couldn’t speak.

“Congratulations,” Sam whispered. “I may be an old timer but I’m heading there tomorrow morning as well. So is Matt—we’re both in the weaponry detail.”

Lance looked at them, his eyes glossing over. He wouldn’t be surprised if Pidge told her family that they were together. She trusted Matt and her parents with everything—so they were always so relaxed around them.

“What did you get assigned into?” Matt asked, adjusting his glasses with a weak smile.

“I’m a soldier,” Lance whispered after a moment of silence.

He flinched and turned to Keith when he let out a sob, his hand clutching the side of Lance's jacket. “You can’t go,” Keith mumbled. “You’ll die or get hurt—y-you can’t—come to the garage with me. I-I’ll take a cinder block and break your leg so you can’t go. I’ll—” Lance took Keith’s head into his hands and brought to his eyesight.

Never in his eighteen years of living did Lance ever expect to see Keith Kogane cry. He didn’t cry when his father died and was put into foster care. He didn’t cry when he finally met his mother. He didn’t cry when Shiro was deported back to Japan.

Lance didn’t like the sight of it. The boy was always better with his actions rather than words, its why he adored every gift Keith gave him. Whether it was a wrench or three dozen doughnuts, he adored them.

“Don’t go,” Keith whispered and Lance broke.

“I need to,” Lance whispered back. “Guess what I’m holding right now?” Lance asked.

“Me..?” Keith tilted his head into Lances touch.

“I’m holding my entire universe in my hands,” Lance whispered, watching as the words sparked Keith's face to turn a light shade of pink. “I’ll be back and you can take me on a ride on that motorcycle your dad left you.”

“It’s not fixed yet.”

“That’s why you have to take me on a ride on it,” Lance softly smiled. He slowly let go of Keith's head and the boy collapsed against him, his arms wrapping around his waist and nose digging into the side of his neck.

“Please...no, let this be a dream, please,” Keith whispered. Lance slowly wrapped his arms around Keith, holding the boy closer. He pressed Keith’s head into his chest, his eyes lazily looking over the list the two had made that he must have grabbed in a hurry. Everything on it was checked off on it besides two.

23 In a school classroom

2 After spending more than a month apart

The two were always together, and in school would define everything the two had been working to keep a secret to not be murdered.

Lance had an idea shoot through his brain and he grinned, picking Keith up from the floor and dragging him to the front door. “Where are you—”

“We’ll be back in two hours,” Lance said before shutting the door.

Keith didn’t say anything, he simply let Lance drag him to where they were going but his eyes grew at the sight of the school as it came into view.

“Lance what’re we—”

“Number twenty-three.” Lance held up the list, a small smile on his face. Keith grabbed the paper and his eyes grew as Lance slipped to the side of the building, trying to open windows.

“Lance—”

 

_ Squeak _

 

“Bingo,” Lance smirked. He pushed the window open further. He grabbed the windowsill, jumping slightly before hoisting himself inside. He looked out the window and down at Keith. “C’Mon Mullet. I don’t got all day.”

Keith bit his lip before sighing. He folded the paper, stuffing it into his pocket before pulling himself through the window and into the classroom. He looked around slightly before looking at Lance. “Is this Mrs.Honerva’s classroom?”

“I think so, I don’t take extreme physics like you nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.” Keith furrowed his brows. He walked close to Lance who slung his arms around Keith’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were flushed against each other. Lance planted a soft kiss against Keith’s lips before smiling at him gently.

“I’ll write you every day,” Lance whispered as he shrugged his jacket off and placed it over Keith’s shoulders.

“Lance—”

“And I won’t get shot. I promise. I’ll be so great of an aim and shot that those Nazi sons of bitches won’t know what hit ‘em until I’m gone.”

“Lance,” Keith cupped the boys face. “You’ll come back right?” Lance nodded. “Promise me you’ll come back as soon as possible.”

“Promise me you’ll be waiting here for me,” Lance squeezed Keith's hips in his hands. “I don’t want to spend years at war just to find you in the arms of another guy.”

“I don’t know, Marco seems pretty capable of himself,” Keith softly chuckled, Lance, sighed.

“Marco’s coming with me.”

“Oh,” Keith mumbled. “Sorry.”

“ ‘S fine,” Lance sighed. “I just hope Marco, Rachel and I can handle ourselves out there, ya know? I mean, it’s only been three months since they bombed the harbor and we’re already being asked to send more people in. Makes you wonder what’s happening over there.”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed, leaning closer to Lance. He pressed a soft kiss on the corner of Lance's mouth before leaning his head down on his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll come back soon.”

“I promise,” Lance whispered. “Promise me you’ll wait for me, even if it takes years.”

“I promise,” Keith whispered back. 

They both mingled in the silence before Lance started humming to a song. Keith let them move around in a slow dance that Lance lead. “Hey, Keith?” Lance asked, Keith humming in response. “Do you have your knife on you?”

“When don’t I?” Keith dryly laughed, taking the knife from its holster on his hip. Lance let go of him, taking the knife and walking through the desks. “Lance—”

“Which is your desk?”

“Second to back window corner—Lance what’re you—”

Before Keith could register Lance was carving into the wooden desk. Keith ran to him, jumping to take the knife out of his hand but by the time he reached for it Lance was done. “There. You like?”

 

**LM+KK**

 

“I love you, idiot, now keep dancing with me,” Keith sighed. Lance chuckled and gave Keith his knife back and the two continued their sloppy mess of a dance with Keith leaning his head on Lance's shoulder, his arms tucked into the jacket's sleeves with Lance's arms around his waist loosely. Lance hummed songs for them to dance to. 

After a few minutes, Keith leaned his head up, looking at Lance before pressing his lips to Lances, a small tear running down his cheek.


	3. a tearful goodbye

Keith’s heart was clutched in his chest. He was wearing Lance’s jacket, his nose dug into the side of it as he walked silently next to Romelle and Pidge who knew the way to the school that Keith, Hunk, and Allura didn’t go to. They made it to the entrance and found rows of students from both schools sitting and standing around waiting for the shuttle. They were all saying goodbye to friends and family.

“Look,” Allura nudged Hunks side. “It’s Ryan Kinkade. I didn’t know he was eighteen already.”

“He’s been eighteen for a while now. Beginning of the year I think.” Hunk crossed his arms, his eyes looking down at Pidge. “Anyone from your school shipping off?”

“James Griffin, unsurprisingly,” Romelle groaned. “He does the best in everything.” Pidge rolled her eyes as the blonde sighed. “And then there’s Lotor, Rolo, Nyma—”

“There’s a couple of people,” Pidge cut Romelle off. “God I hope we don’t get news that some of our classmates have died.”

“I heard that the people who were recruited are getting their high school diplomas when they get back.” Allura softly grinned.

Keith wasn’t listening to them very much. He was looking out onto the crowd of people, his eyes searching for Lance. His eyes landed on Ryan, who gave a small nod before giving his mother a hug.

His eyes landed on a boy with brown hair, and before Keith could realize it wasn’t Lance his hand was on the boy's shoulder. He turned to Keith, lifting a brow before a small grimace was placed on his face. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, sorry. Thought you were someone else,” Keith muttered, stepping back into someone else.

“God Mullet, do you ever look before you step?” Lance laughed and Keith had never turned around faster. His arms wrapped around Lance's waist and his head nuzzled into Lance's shoulder.

He held that position for a moment, before realizing they were in _public_. He quickly picked Lance by the waist and tossed him to the ground, watching as the people around them gave a happy huff while Keith tries to push away the blush on his cheeks, but looking down at Lance lying on the ground with the small bit of blush on his cheeks didn’t help his case.

“Thanks for that,” Lance chuckled as he stood up. Keith took in his outfit.

A completely brown outfit had never looked so good on someone. Everyone around them was wearing a uniform similar to what they would wear. Nurses were in white, fighter pilots were in their suits, coordinators and specialists were in white and orange outfits. Lance lifted the small cap on his head up, running his hand through his hair while Keith’s hand ran over the nametag sewed onto a patch on the front of his uniform.

**McClain, Lance**

“I got a dog tag too,” Lance pulled it from his collar, waving it slightly before pulling on Keith’s jacket sleeve. “You look good in my jacket,” Lance softly spoke. “You should keep it, a memento to remember me.”

“I don’t need a memento to remember you, idiot,” Keith mumbled back as Hunk ran to them with their friends trailing behind, collapsing Lance in a hug.

“We’re gonna miss you, buddy!” Hunk whined. “Don’t get hurt!”

“I won’t,” Lance chuckled. “You guys should see what they gave me!” Lance grabbed the brown sack at his feet that his name stitched into it. He rambled on about what they gave him, a smile tugged on his lips that Keith wanted nothing more than to kiss.

“Come back to me, Lance,” Keith whispered. Lance looked at Keith, lifting a brow up.

“Keith I already promised—”

“I-I know I just…” Keith looked down. His eyes landed in the back, on the thing on top of everything else. He reached in, grabbing the notebook and the pencil from his shirt pocket and opening it the first page.

 

_Dear Sharpshooter,_

_Please write to me every day, I won’t forget you that way, you idiot._

_Love, Samurai_

 

Keith added his address at the bottom of the message, closing the notebook and slamming it into Lance's chest. He crossed his arms and looked down at his feet, listening to the ruffle of pages.

He slowly looked up at Lance who only gave him a soft, gentle smile. Lance nodded his head once and Keith blushed, shaking his head before glaring at Lance.

“I still think this is a stupid idea.”

“We all do,” Romella crossed her arms. “But we’ll keep you updated,” she held out her hand. Lance slowly gave her the notebook and she opened the book up to the second page, writing in her address. The book slowly made its way around the group before it landed back in Lance's hands. “Now you can write to any of us.”

“Sweet!” Lance grinned and pushed the book back into his bag. “But how will you guys—”

“Keith.” They all answered before Lance could ask. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. He stood up straighter as Sargeant Monastery walked over to him. Lance held his arm up, his chest heaving as his right hand was held at a salute on his forehead.

Keith looked at him, watching as Lance was shuttering slightly as the man glared at him. “Soldier.”

“Sergeant.” Lance greeted back.

“These those friends you ran to go tell?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lance answered. Keith couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Lance was never scared of anyone, yet he was the only one who could hear the tremor in Lances voice.

Sargeant Monastery nodded. He eyed each of them then looking back at Lance. “We load the shuttle in five minutes. Get your goodbyes over with and get in line.”

“Yes, Sir.” The man walked away and Lance lowered his hand slowly, turning his head as the man walked. He looked from him to Keith.

Keith felt like he was drowning. The way the blue in Lances eyes shimmed and the way he couldn’t hear anything Lance was saying without it being muffled. He didn’t want a goodbye.

Keith pulled Lance into a hug, and even though they were the same height, Keith found himself pushing his head into Lance's chest. He didn’t know what to say, but he could hug. Hugging was good. It was a small gesture people gave when two people needed to part ways for a little bit and they did it again when they saw each other again. He would see Lance again.

Keith slowly pulled away, his hands on Lances shoulders, sliding down his bicep than forearm, his hand grasping Lances. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Lance softly smiled, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Okay.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance had never been good with goodbyes, that’s why he asked his parents to stay home while his siblings walked to the shuttle together. It was better that way instead of having to listen to their mother threaten to kill them herself if they died out there. He didn’t complain about showing up and seeing his friends there.

The easiest goodbyes were Hunk, Allura, Pidge, and Romelle. They were the easiest because they gave him hugs, smiles and no regrets over what he did. The hardest was Keith.

He could feel the need Keith had to keep him here. To grab his hand, drag him to The Balmera and throw french fries at each other like nothing was changing, but things were changing. He could tell Keith wanted to cry, but he didn’t.

“Cadets! Fall in line!” Lance broke from his hug with Pidge, grabbing the bag at his feet and adjusting the hat on his head.

“I gotta go but I’ll try to write to you all as much as I can and I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Lance smiled. His eyes fell on Keith, who looked shattered in his spot. Lance softly smiled, walking to Keith and whispering, “I love you.” In his ear before running off to his spot in line.

It was the first time either had said those three words since they started dating.

They were given orders to get on the shuttles provided then they would be transported to Europe to fight in the British army to fight off Asian and German troops alike. Lance flinched at that detail. They were told that they were going to stop this war no matter what and they were doing the journey by boat, meaning they would be at sea or around twenty days before they got to England to dock and they travel across the country to get to the fighting lines.

After sounding off, Lance had never sprinted to a seat faster in his life. He sat down in the back of a green vehicle and held his bag on his lap, watching as seven other soldiers were loaded into his assigned shuttle. Three of them he recognized—Ryan, Zethrid, and Ezor—four of them he didn’t.

They sat in silence even after they started moving. They had segregated themselves, Lance noted. The kids from the Galran Academy sat across from the Altean Academy kids. Lance took out his journey, running his hands over Keith’s small message before flipping past everyone’s addresses and starting to write his first letter to Keith.

 

Dear Samurai, 

I’ve only been without you for a couple of minutes and I’ll only just started writing to you. I promise I’ll get this out as soon as I can. I know this letter won’t get out until we reach England, so it won’t arrive for around three weeks. I hope you can wait for me until then Samurai. 

 

“You know those notebooks are for field notes right?” Lance looked up at the boy who spoke. It was the kid who Keith talked to for a moment. “Like for when you need to write down the names of the people who you killed and the soldiers we lose.”

“Oh,” Lance mumbled. He looked over at the people from his school when Zethrid placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Mind your own business whitey,” Ezor stuck her tongue out.

“What did you just call me?” The boy growled. Lance shrunk in his seat. Great. He hasn’t even gotten to the war grounds yet and he has already made an enemy that will shoot him when he gets handed a gun.

“Stand down, James,” the boy next to him spoke. Lance had never taken in how different the two schools looked.

Ezor had her multi-shaded hair held in a high ponytail that reached her hips and Zethrids was cut at her jaw, it was curly and lifted to her ears. Ryans—Or Kinkade as everyone called him—was in dreads on the top of his head. The people across from them looked way different. Two of the boys had white blonde hair, one was cut closer to the head with a small beard, the other had his in long locks that were contained in a ponytail. The brown-haired boy had a small amount of bangs on the side of his face and the only white girl had her raven hair cut at her jaw, straight down and silent with a scowl on her face as she looked at Ezor.

The long-haired boy said. “This is James Griffin, please pardon him. I heard the Sergeant saying we would most likely end up as a platoon so I highly suggest we all get along.” Zethrid growled in response. “What are all of your names?”

“Zethrid, Ezor, Kinkade and Lance.” Zethrid pointed her thumb at each person, her eyes not daring to move from the long-haired boy. “What about you whiteys?”

“I am Lotor and you’ve already heard of Griffin,” he motioned to the brown haired boy sitting across from Lance. “This is Acxa and the last fellow over there is Rolo.” He saluted them with two fingers before looking back over the side of the garter that stopped them from rolling out of the back of the truck. “We’re going to be in these close quarters for quite a few years so I suggest we all get to know each other. Build off of each other's strengths and weaknesses—”

“No offense Lotor, but why should we trust any of you when you shot out all our windows last school year.” Ezor crossed her arms.

“We four didn’t do it. It was some of the other Galran students, lower classmen who only do more harm than good.” Lotor softly smiled at Ezor.

Lance took note of their seating.

Lance...Griffin

Zethrid...Lotor

Ezor...Acxa

Kinkade...Rolo

“Still don’t trust you,” Ezor mumbled. Lance nervously cleared his throat, fishing through his bag until he found the deck of cards he had managed to hide while packing. He swung it around slightly, the others in the vehicle looking at him.

“Since we have some time on our hands why don’t we play some games.” He nervously grinned, trying his best not to seem as terrified of these people as he was.

Terrified wasn’t the right word to use. More like uncomfortable.

He had never been around other white people that much if you didn’t count Romelle and Pidges family. Other than that, he was scolded for going into the diner during “white-people” hours and was forced to walk on the other side of the street as white people.

Rolo reached and took the card deck from Lance's hand, giving a small grin. “That sounds like a great idea, guy.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

By the time nightfall hit they were almost at their designated meeting place for the ships to take them to England. Lance took notes on who won each round of games they played.

 

Griffin IIII

Kinkade IIII

Lotor II

Acxa II

Rolo III

Zethrid III

Ezor II

Lance I

 

Lance stuffed the cards back into his bag and grinned at the people in the truck with him. If they were going to be a platoon, Lance was glad that it was them. Over the course of a ten-hour ride, they had forgotten the race barrier and got along. They shared their concerns and fears of what they’d be doing but that didn’t stop them from also sharing their strengths.

The youngest person in the truck was Griffin, he had turned eighteen only two days prior to the draft. Kinkade was the oldest.

They shared about families, learning that Lance was the only one with siblings. They shared about relationships. Rolo had a girlfriend going in as a nurse, and Kinkade and Griffin both had girlfriends who were staying back. Lance bit his tongue when he was asked.

“What about you Lance?” Rolo asked. “Got any girl waitin’ for ya when we get back?”

“Besides my Mama? No,” Lance shook his head.

“Oh C’Mon! What about Allura? You two are really close and you’re always flirting with her.” Ezor laughed slightly, reaching over and hitting Lance on the shoulder.

“She’s just a friend,” Lance nervously grinned.

“So you’re saying that Allura is not your girlfriend?” Zethrid laughed. “That is a total lie.”

“It’s not a lie. We’re just friends. I got no girl waiting for me,” Lance shrugged his shoulders. His mind drifted to Keith.

How he was probably listening to music in his living and blasting it through his house and into the garage while he fixed his bike. Or was sitting in his room polishing his knives. Or the rare chance that Pidge got him out of the house and that there at The Balmera drinking milkshakes and trying to get Hunk the courage to ask out Shay, the cute waitress that always serves them.

There was also the unthinkable outcome Lance dismissed. The thought that Keith was holding himself in his bed, clutching the jacket around him. He would be shaking and crying, most likely listening through the small radio in his room the mixtape he had made him for Keith’s sixteenth birthday.

He didn’t like that idea.

He shook his head and imagined Hunk and Romelle pulling him into the alleys of The Balmera and forcing him to dance to a new record that was released two months prior that Keith hadn’t listened to yet.

“How long do you think we’ll be fightin’ for?” Rolo asked, crossing his ankles and leaning back as he stretched his legs out.

“Based on how long were been fighting, at least a few more years,” Acxa crossed her arms.

They had all long discarded their caps and jacket, sitting in their brown pants and combat boots with their dog tags and gray tank tops. Lance wondered if they would if they would get there just to turn around and head back. He somewhat hoped for that, but he also hoped to fight.

 

 

  
He wanted to prove to everyone he could fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the characters I'll be using in this story will be characters we haven't heard from in a WHILE...so don't get too attached


	4. docking to port

Dear Samurai,

I’ve only been without you for a couple of minutes and I’ll only just started writing to you. I promise I’ll get this out as soon as I can. I know this letter won’t get out until we reach England, so it won’t arrive for around three weeks. I hope you can wait for me until then Samurai.

I am now writing these next sections a little further in date of each other. I think how I will write from now on is each paragraph is a new timeframe. We’re almost at the California coastline and from there we’ll take a ship to England. The trip will take almost three weeks, so I won’t be able to get this to you until then. I’ve met and bonded with my platoon already, which is a group of people I’ll be fighting alongside. I’m fighting with Zethrid, Ezor, and Kinkade from our school, and from Galran it’s Griffin, Rolo, Acxa, and Lotor. Griffin has something against me but Zethrid and Ezor are standing up for me so I don’t mind. Kinkade and Rolo share the bond of communicating to everyone through as little words as possible. We played cards and shared stories of our families and who we’d come back to. They kept saying Allura would be waiting for me, but I didn’t budge about talking about you. I don’t want to risk our relationship for a simple explanation. Besides, they asked if a  _ girl _ was waiting for me, not a boy. So I technically answered the question.

March 4, ‘41. We’re on the boat now. We’re crammed together below deck—we all say in these hammocks tied to posts and we swing when we try to sleep. Since we’re a bunch of untrained soldiers we’ve been told to train on the boat so when we get to England we’re ready for battle. It’s night time as I write you this, and Griffins snoring under me isn’t helping my case but I digress. We were running laps around the boat, doing push-ups then more laps. It was tiring. We were handed guns to test how strong our shots were and Kinkade and I were the only ones who managed to hit the targets on our first try. We’ve been named the Sharpshooters and I got reminded of you. I miss you so much and it’s only been a day. Maybe because I’m used to seeing you every day.

March 10, ‘41. You know how I thought the sea was amazing? I lied. The beach is amazing but being through two storms and finding out you get seas sickness is not fun. I find myself throwing up over the side of the boat when everyone else is running and I’m told if I continue I could get scurvy, which would have me eating lemons so I try not to throw up. Acxa—I told you about her, well she’s really good with a gun too. Kinkade, Acxa and I are the long-range snipers of our platoon, and everyone else is close ranged shooting. Good news is that I don’t get that close to the fight and I still get to shoot someone’s head off. We haven’t run into any transport ships yet so we’re still on course to hit England in about two weeks. I haven’t learned much about my platoon since we got on the boat, but Rolo introduced me to his girlfriend Nyma. She’s a nurse with Rachel. Marco doesn’t get along with the other coordinators ‘cause they’re all white while he's a little Cuban man. They’re all huge compared to his scrawniness but he’s the only one who seems to understand what they’re doing so he doesn’t mind. I love you.

March 12, ‘41. We’re going to be in England faster than we thought. We found a faster route and we’re expected to dock in a few days. I get to mail this out to you faster than I thought I could. Rachel is the ‘Head Nurse’ of her section so she has to overlook everyone else. Lotor was named the head of our platoon but a unanimous vote of everyone vs me. I don’t trust him, that’s my problem. He preaches unity for our platoon because it’s even with whites vs colors but he doesn’t seem to trust any colored folk. He got sick (a cold he picked up before leaving) and refused to be treated by Rachel since she’s the only who knows what she’s doing. I don’t trust him, and I’m assigned to have his back during battle so I have to watch him in hand to hand combat while I sit on a perch and shoot everyone around him. I don’t trust him.

March 17, ‘41. We docked in England. I can’t get this letter out to you until after we arrive at the base but so far our arrival has been welcoming. Seven girls have already given me death threats and I’ve had to stop Ezor from killing a man that groped Zethrid. Lotor handled the man saying it was wrong and that if he did that to anyone in our platoon again he would be considered an enemy. I still don’t trust him. He’s only been looking out for the white kids and the girls, so Kinkade and I have been on our own. We don’t mind it really, and I’ve learned a lot about him. He has a girl waiting for him back in our small town, an Ina Leifsdottir. She’s a white girl but he loves her to death and is thinkin’ of marrying her when we get back. She’s the only person he’s writin’ to besides his Ma. I think I’ll only be writing to you since Rachel and Marco are having me sign the letters they write to our parents and add in some of my input. We’ve been told that mail only gets picked up and delivered every two weeks and it takes about two weeks for letters to be shipped back and forth. So every two weeks you’ll hear from me. Everyone can write to me, but I can only respond to one person so I’ll respond to you and tell you to tell everyone else that I got their letter. I miss you more every day.

March 20, ‘41. We’ve reached our base and it only took us three days of switching from tanks to on foot seven million times. After the sixth time, Kinkade and I were assigned to stay in a truck in the back to shoot anyone who was approaching our group. We gladly took the position if it meant we got to sit and not have to walk six miles. Also, I just found out that Hunk slipped in some photos of all of us into my bag! His name was written on the back of ‘em saying ‘You probably forgot to pack some of us so you’re welcome’ and I’m honestly glad he did pack them. He gave me that cute photo of us dancing in your yard after Altea won that baseball game against the Galra. You know the one he took when he told us to hold that pose for an hour so he could set up the Kodak camera he got that wasn’t cheap? God that pissed me off but it kept you close to me, so I didn’t mind. He also gave me a ton of photos he took of us. Like one of ‘em, we’re kissing and you’re holding my jaw and your hair is in a ponytail. I think he took that on your 16th birthday ‘cause we look fairly young. He also gave me one of us smiling widely at the camera with my arm hooked on your shoulders. He also gave me the one where we caught you and Romelle sneaking out of a rock party and you two happily and drunkenly posed for a photo. I love you.

March 24, ‘41. I thought Kinkade was asleep and he wasn’t. He caught me looking at the photo of us kissing and our conversation went like this.

Kinkade; That Kogane?

Lance; Yeah

Kinkade; You two are kissing

Lance; Yes we are

Kinkade; I won’t tell if you won’t tell

He then shows me a photo of his Ina. She’s pretty, and also had a photo of the two kissing. It’s our secret now that he’s with a white girl and I’m with you. I think she’d get along just fine with our friends. He says shes got a learning thing that makes her memorize a bunch of stuff for no reason. He says it’s a loveable quirk she has and that it kept her from going with us, otherwise she’d be with us right now. She’s really smart, so I hope Pidge will introduce you guys to her.

March 25, ‘41. I get to send this out today. I hope it gets to ya soon Samurai, I miss you more every day. I haven’t been fighting yet, but they say they’ll use my platoon soon for a capture mission. We gotta take in one of the captains of a Japanese troop and kill everyone on the base. It’s a big job so we’re not the only group going. It’s my first big mission so I hope I don’t screw it up. I love you Samurai, and I hope you know that just because these letters are coming in late that you don’t forget that I love you. Please know I want to know everything I’m missing while I’m gone.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

Keith softly smiled at the letters that scattered around his desk. He set down the last one on his desk gently, a smile he couldn’t drop on his lips. They were dated in March, and he had only just received them but he loved them nonetheless. He couldn’t stop his train of thought on the idea that Lance was going to attack someone soon, or had already killed someone. It terrified him. But that didn’t stop him from still madly being in love with the idea of Lance.

The idea of Lance that was a goofball and a flirt and a breadwinner. The idea of Lance that worked in the flower shop across from The Balmera and the one who would bring Keith some food when he was working on the bike. The Lance who would insist on paying for everything because he was the one with a job, low paying and all.

The Lance that would steal the flowers from his work simply because they looked nice in Keith's hair. The idea of Lance that would bring Keith along to babysit his niece and nephew because neither Luis or Lisa could pick them up that day. The Lance that would convince Keith to sneak out of the house so the two could stargaze in his yard.

The idea of Lance that in his darkest times, Keith would spend hours trying to convince to put the gun down, don’t put his head through the rope, don’t jump from the bridge. The idea of Lance that was so strong and confident half the time but so fragile the other half.

He still loved that Lance.

He will always love that Lance.

“Keith!” His mother called. “Romelle is here!”   


“I’ll be down in a moment!” Keith yelled back. He grabbed the letters on his desk, putting them in order before pushing them back into their envelope and hiding them in a book on his desk. He stood up from his desk, walking out of his room and down the steps of his house. He gave a small wave as he entered the downstairs, smiling as Romelle stood in the doorway of his house. She was dressed in her night attire that he was ever so basked in the idea that he was the only one who got to see it.

She dawned black pants, skintight at her thighs and a large bell at her calves to her ankles. A white button up was tucked into them and her hair was held in two braids. She wore a leather jacket Keith knew for a fact she stole from him. Her normal flats were replaced with thick-heeled boots.

“You look very much like a rebel tonight.” Keith scoffed with a laugh.

“And you look like a preppy!” Romelle huffed, looking down at her button up and undoing the first two buttons on it. “C’Mon! Lose the sweater vest, put on the jacket and let’s go rage!” 

Keith eyed Krolia, watching as she ignored their conversation and continued to clean the dishes. “Mom, are you listening to her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about preppy,” Krolia teased. Romella burst out laughing and Keith simply rolled his eyes. He tore off the sweater vest and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and undid the buttons on his shirt until they were at the end of his pecs. 

“Better?”

“Much.” Romelle grinned before grabbing Keith’s hand. He sighed as she pulled him out to the car and push him into the passenger seat then got into the driver’s seat and took off. “Okay so the things at this party are a lot more intense then they were the last party.”

“Intense how?”

“They got heroin, mushrooms and all these hard drugs there this time.” Keith whistled and Romelle nodded. “Yeah it’s crazy. It’s also right in the middle of white-people-central so if we gotta bounce you have to be ready to jet.”

“As in I have to be one of the first people to live so I’m not shot on sight.” Keith sighed, leaning his head against the mind. “Got it.”

Romelle was silent for a moment before speaking. “Have you got any letters from Loverboy yet?”

“Lance?” Romelle hummed and nodded. “Yeah, they came in yesterday.”

“That’s awesome!”   
“He has to kill people now,” Keith sighed, looking at his lap. “I was just hoping that by the time he got there he wouldn’t have to fight, ya know?” Keith picked at his nails, chipping away the grease embedded behind them. “Like he would get there and be sent because the fight is over.”

“It’s only been a month Keith, he’ll be back before we know it.” Romelle softly smiled. “When are you planning on writing him back?”

“He said that mail comes in every two weeks so I was thinking tomorrow morning I would write everything down and send it in so it gets there soon.”

“Anything specific I can know about?”

Keith thought for a moment, lifting his head and watching the soft glow of the street lights let them see the road as they passed the clear border between the colored neighborhoods and the white neighborhoods. “Do you know an Ina Leifsdottir?”

“Yeah, she’s in my English class,” Romelle laughed slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Kinkade—this kid at my school is in Lances platoon. The two get along because Kinkade is dating her and well, Lance is with me. It’s kind of their secret out there.” Keith looked at Romelle, watching as she was listening to him. “Lance said she’d probably be a good fit in our friend group.”

“I wouldn’t take Ina as one to be with a black kid. She’s always hanging out with Griffin and shit, a-and Griffin is an asshole. Like a straight up asshole. He’s a sexist, racist, homophobic asshole.”

“Maybe you only have part of the story,” Keith softly and nervously laughed. “Like what if its a cover for a trans black girl he’s with?”

“I...I never thought of it like that,” Romelle sighed, pulling her car over as the sound of music started to fill their ears. “The party’s up ahead. Got a plan on what you wanna do once we’re inside?” Romelle turned to Keith and he nodded, a devious smirk on his lips.

“I wanna do everything.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance knew almost nothing about Keith’s drug use. They liked it that way. Keith knew the minimal about Lance's mental health and Lance knew the minimal about Keith’s drug use. It was enough to know they had it and how to somewhat deal with it, but not enough that if it was too intense the other was allowed to back out. They argued about the war a lot though. Keith hated it and rebelled against it, while Lance wanted to fight.

Keith didn’t like that part of their relationship. How they would go days without talking to each other because of an argument on how the war could be solved. Keith said a peace treaty between the nations. Lance said until one nation remained victorious. Everything in their relationship went well otherwise.

No one but the two of them knew how their relationship started, and it was a memory Keith held dear to him. They were fifteen and Lance was babysitting Nadia and Sylvio. Keith was tutoring him in Math and they took a break to play in the yard when Lance slipped and knocked himself out. When he woke up Keith was cradling Lance against his chest and Lance said his eyes looked like a Morning Glory flower and kissed him before passing out again.

When Keith asked his family about it Veronica said Morning Glories were Lance's favorite flower. Forget-me-Not became Keiths after he saw them and was reminded of Lance’s eyes.

Two months after they started dating Lance had his first suicide attempt Keith talked him out of. He was trying to jump off the side of the bridge and Keith wouldn’t let go. Two hours later and a lot of convincing Lance was in Keith's arms and he stayed with Keith that night.

Five months after they started dating Keith had his first hit of marijuana. It was still a highly illegal drug at the time, and Keith still took it. He didn’t know how Romelle got it, but he was hooked in an instant. Three hours after the hit he got paranoid and Lance had to spend two hours trying to calm Keith down.

Right now, Keith wished Lance was there to help him with his paranoia. He took one line of cocaine, and now he couldn’t stop shaking. He was clutching his hair, sitting on the steps of the back porch of the house while everyone was inside having their orgies and drugs and alcohol. He was outside, shaking violently and his mind was screaming that Lance was dead.

A man had shot Lance through the chest and now he was without Lance and they had promised each other when they were sixteen that they would get their first tattoos together.

“...eith, Keith breath with me,” someone was talking to him. Their voice was too low for it to be Romelle and their skin was too dark too. “In for four and out for five. Breath with me okay? One two three four.”

One two three four

One two three four five—

—bullets flying through Lances body

One two three four—

—blood everywhere

One two three four five—

—his pulse was gone

One two three four

One two three four five

One two three four

One two three four five

Keith could hear the rock music from the house without the sound of water in his ears blocking it. His nails were digging into his scalp and he could see the hands of the person who was trying to help his breath. Their hands were on his knees and were running up and down a small bit of his thigh then back to his knee, again and again, to try to comfort him. Their hands were small with small braided bracelets on their wrists.

“Keith nod if you can hear me?” He slowly nodded his head. Their left hand moved from his leg to a red cup on the ground. They held it out to him. “Drink this, it’s water and I made sure of it.”

His right hand let go of his hair and he took the cup. Small strands of hair were in between his fingers but he ignored it and chugged down the cup in a matter of seconds before dropping it at his side. His hand clutched back up at his hair again.

“Keith do you know where you are?”

“A-A party in the white part of town.” Keith stammered out. “Lance is dead.” he blurted out, his mind racing again. “He was shot I know it. He’s dead and I didn't even get to—”

“Keith breathe.” The person said. Keith took a few shaking breaths. “Can you look at me?”

He slowly lifted his head, his neck creaking in his ears at the sight of the person's blurry face slowly pulled into view.

Keith couldn’t put a name to a face. They were definitely  _ not _ Romelle. They were tanned to a point of possibly being a mixed race person, which was rare but could also have spent to much time out in the sun. Keith was utterly confused about who he was looking at. 

“I-I-I—”

“What did you take?”

“A line of coke I—”

“Keith I need you to stay here okay? I need to find Romelle.” They squeezed his knees and Keith formed a ball in himself. He rested his forehead against his knee and shook violently. He needed Lance.

Keith couldn’t tell how long he was alone but suddenly Romelle was in front of him. Then he was in the car and then it was the next morning.

Keith lifted his head off the pillow, groaning loudly as he pressed his wrist against his forehead. He blinked his eyes to the light leaking into the room before adjusting the papers scattered on the floor, then the feet and then the blonde hair. “Romelle?” He croaked out, his throat to dry to talk.

“You got paranoid again.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Party was lame anyway, the music wasn’t even that good,” Romelle shrugged her shoulders, giving Keith a soft grin. Her jacket was hanging off his doorknob. He groaned, lying back down on his bed and letting himself face her with his arm hanging over the side the bed. He looked at the papers on the floor.

“Why are you still here?”

“Your Mom was in bed when I dragged you in and then when you weren’t awake in the morning and I told her you got paranoid she asked me to stay over and watch you.” Romelles eyes traced the paper—reading.

Keith groaned, noticing the handwriting on the paper. “Are these—”

“You’re not very good at hiding things. They were poking out of your textbook and I got bored.” Romelle shrugged her shoulders. “You should also thank Rizavi for getting me. She helped you through your panic attack.”

“I...Alright.” Keith groaned and hit his head against the pillow again.

“Lance is okay.”

“He’s in a war zone,” Keith licked his lips. “He’ll never be okay until he’s back with me.”


	5. loverboy sickness

_Dear Sharpshooter,_

_Every day you’re gone is another day that I wish you were in my arms. I wish I could throw wrenches at you when you enter my workspace again and hurl milkshakes at you when we start food fights in The Balmera. I wish you were with me. I remember just two days before you were laying your head on my lap while I was reading As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. We were playing a Spanish song you wanted to show me and you were dozing off every few minutes but refuses to fall asleep. That was months ago but I refuse to make it feel like it wasn’t yesterday._

_School has been uneventful. Romelle came in with Pidge two weeks ago and for a split second, they both asked where you were before remembering. We’re all still adjusting to you being gone. We’re graduating in a few months, and it saddens all of us that you can’t be there with us. I’m being offered a job at the mechanics uptown and I’m very tempted to take it. I most likely will take it. The bike is coming along nice likely and I have no new book reviews. My hope is that by the time this letter reaches you the war will be over, but I know that won’t happen._

_I wish you didn’t go, but all I can do now is hope you come back to me. Also, you know that tattoo place two blocks away from the Balmera? They discounted their tattoos to colored folks and after convincing them I was Asian (Seriously guys it’s in the monolid) they gave me a tattoo. Hunk took a picture of it as soon as it was done and it only cost me 11 dollars. I attached the picture to this letter so you can see. It’s the tattoo we always talk about getting together, but since you’re not here I hope you don’t get mad I got it without you. I got it in red like you asked._

_I miss you so much and I hope your mission went well. Hope to hear from you again soon._

_Love, Samurai_

 

Lance wasted no time in going through the envelope and pulling out the photo. It was exactly the tattoo the two had talked about getting, in the place they talked about getting it.

It was on Keith's right shoulder blade. It was an outline of a lion head, it’s main holding flowers in it—Forget-Me-Nots and Morning Glories—with their initials underneath the head. Lances were in a darker shade than Keith’s, he guessed that they were written in blue. Above the lions head was two katanas crossing over each other.

“That your girl?” Lance flinched, holding the photo against his chest and turning around to Rolo.

“I-I don’t have a girl waiting for me.” Lance turned back to the letter sprawled out on his lap, stuffing the papers and photo back into the envelope as Rolo sat down next to him. They were all huddled in what was named the dining area—mostly because that’s where they all ate. The camp they had was small and each platoon had one tent to share. Lance was glad that Rachel and Marco stayed with him and happier when he found out that Veronica was at their camp.

The camp was small. Only about twenty tents in total all in and around the same size. They were in a circle with the middle being the dining area that was just a large field used for training or eating on the ground. The first ring around were the sleeping tents, the second ring was spread out and was the captain's tents, prisoners tents, medical tents and planning tents.

In Lances tent they had small cots that went down the middle, two right next to each other. He took note of where everyone slept.

(Back wall)

Griffin...Rolo

Lotor...Acxa

Ezor...Zethrid

Lance...Kinkade

(Entrance)

Lance found himself more aware of his surroundings, and out of all the white people in his platoon, he trusted Rolo the most and Lotor the least.

“You sure that ain’t your girl?” Rolo laughed, pointing at the envelope in Lance's hand. “That looks like a girl to me.”

“My friend just has long hair. For rebellious reasons.” It was a true lie mostly. Besides the fact that Keith wasn’t just his friend, Keith had grown a mullet in a rebellion of his father dying and his foster parents asking him to cut it. By the time Keith had become his boyfriend the mullet had become something, Lance couldn’t see him without. But that didn’t stop Lance from teasing him about it.

“I see,” Rolo sat on the ground, resting his back on the log as Lance sighed, picking at the corner of the envelope. “You happy our mission went well?”

“I sat on a cliffside and shot no one.”

“Be happy you didn’t have to,” Rolor droned. Lance looked over at him. “They just kept coming. We’re lucky Ezor and Zethrids are such brutes, otherwise, Griffin, Lotor and I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Don’t underestimate those girls,” Lance whistled. “They’re something else.”

“They really are.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence. It was only noon, and their platoon was in charge of watching over the captured captain and trying to get him to talk. Lance didn’t know why they gave the rookies that job. They had men who had been fighting in this war since day one at this camp who would be so much more suitable for the job and yet they were doing it. They were teenagers, what did they know about interrogation?

Lance looked down at his watch, standing from the log. “Where are you going?”

“I have to switch with Lotor soon for interrogation.”

“I’ll come with,” Rolo groaned as he stood up. He shook his left leg and Lance watched as the bandage on his leg shimmed down slightly. He sighed, tightening it again. “I ain’t gettin’ this leg back, that's for damn sure.”

“How do you know that?” Lance chuckled slightly as the two started walking towards the tent lining.

“Being shot in the calf twice really does something,” Rolo sighed. “Iverson says if I lose it I get sent home, but I ain’t ready to stop just yet.”

“So focus on getting better and don’t push yourself.” Lance weaved them through the first row of tents. They walked in between the line of the first and second rows until they came close to the prisoner's tent.

“Easier said than done my friend.” Rolo chuckled as they came upon the tent. They stopped outside, watching as Ezor and Kinkade played a card game. “Look whos slackin’.” Rolo chuckled as Ezor won the game. Kinkade rolled his eyes as Lance placed the envelope in his back pocket.

“Lotor doesn’t want us in there,” Kinkade shrugged his shoulders. “But the more Lotor preaches the more the man won’t talk.”

“Well, it’s time for a switch to get him out here.” Lance stretched his arms up and leaned back. He felt a pop in his back before relaxing as Kinkade walked into the tent and left with Acxa, Griffin, and Lotor. Lance glared at Lotor as they walked by each other.

Lance hated to admit it, but he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of this guy. He didn’t see what he looked like because Lotor kept it from him. Lance closed his eyes as he stepped through the flaps of the tan tent, hearing them flutter behind him as he took two more steps forward. Why was he holding his breath?

“Lance?” He shot his eyes open at the sound of his name.

In front of him, handcuffed to the middle pole holding the tent up was the one man he least expected to see alive again. He looked older, wiser, more worn down but Lance was still gaping at him. The minutes passed where Lance was just taking in the sight of him.

The scar over his nose,

The black of his hair was completely replaced with white,

The fact that his left arm was completely gone and replaced with a wooden prosthetic that was thrown on the other side of the tent.

They degraded him, and Lance could tell. Hid chest was dawned with scars and he was in nothing but the underwear they stripped him too.

Lance hated the sight of seeing one of the guardians of his boyfriend stripped down to nothing.

Before Lance knew what he was doing he had ditched his handguns by the entrance and was shrugging off his jacket, kneeling at his side and draping the garment of clothing over his shoulders.

“Lance you—”

“What happened to you?” Lance’s voice was louder than his and raspy, and all Lance could do was take in the utter surprise in the man’s eyes.

Lance had never seen that reaction in Takashi Shirogane before.

“Do you really want to know?” Shiro chuckled nervously. Lance nodded his head vigorously and Shiro sighed, taking in a deep breath before telling his story. Lance sat at his side, listening to the story.

He was deported when Keith turned thirteen. He was trapped on a boat called Kerberos for months, it’s where he got the scar and lost his arm.

After he was brought back to Japan he was thrust into war crimes.

A way to make them up was to be in the military or take the death sentence.

He was a soldier for a while then grew to the captain of an entire fleet and army.

Lance didn’t know how long he sat there listening to Shiro talk, but by the time Shiro ended Kinkade had peaked his head into the tent. He looked between Shiro and Lance a few times before Kinkade glared at Lance.

“They call you a softie ya know,” Kinkade deadpanned. “You’re too nice to everyone.”

“Kinkade—”

“I know who this is, McClain,” Kinkade glared harder. “But he’s on the other side. We gotta treat him like it. It’s nightfall and they want us in the tent. I’ll tell Lotor you want to continue in the morning.”

Kinkade closed the tent and Lance stared at the door for a moment before turning to Shiro.

“He’s right you know,” Shiro chuckled. “I’m a Japanese Army Captain. You gotta treat me like it.”

“But you’re also—”

“Keith isn’t here right now. It's us, in Germany, after some assholes I told not to bomb America, bombed America. We’re at war Lance, and you gotta treat me like an enemy, otherwise, you won’t get shit from me.”

Lance softly chuckled, taking his jacket off of Shiro’s shoulders and sliding it back on. “You’ve never been one to curse.”

“You’ve never been one to back down.” Shiro watched as Lance walked to his guns and replaced them in their holsters. “How good a shot are you?”  
“Good enough to get this,” Lance grabbed the envelope and took out the photo of Keith. He held in front of Shiro's face who only went wide-eyed and looked from the photo of Keith to lance and back. Lance smirked, placing the photo back into the envelope.

“Is that _Keith_?”

“You’ll have to find out when you give me some information,” Lance smirked, turning on his heel towards the front of the tent. “Night Captain Shirogane. Hope you sleep well.”

“No, wait Lance—”

Lance left with a pleased smirk on his face.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance didn’t expect to get another letter that morning from Keith. He was handed it at breakfast but told straight after he had no time to read it due to his interrogation. He didn’t falter though, because it just meant that if Shiro gave him some information they could read it together.

Lance grabbed the other pictures from his bag and made his way to the prisoner tent only to hear screaming from it. He ran to it, watching as Acxa and Griffin stood in front of it to stop him from entering. “I said I—”

“Lotor will handle it.” Acxa glared at Lance. “He will crack and give us everything we need.”

Lance turned to Kinkade, Zethrid, and Ezor. They all knew who it was, but refused to speak about it. Lance furrowed his brows and _growled_. He clutched his hands into fists and pushed past the two _hard_ and into the tent.

He glared at Lotor as he slid the knife down Shiro’s chest that was now covered in more cuts. Lance growled again, slapping away Lotor's hand and barking. “You do not treat people like dolls you psycho! He may be an enemy but he is human! Go train people or bark orders at someone else!” Lance took the knife in Lotor's and stabbed it down at his feet. “Take your knife and leave. I can handle this.”  
“With what force?”

“You gain respect before you gain information, Lotor,” Lance barked, and Shiro realized had never seen Lance like this. “Go teach Ezor hand to hand combat or something. Just stay out of _my_ interrogation with _my_ prisoner.”

Lotor growled before bending down, grabbing the knife and leaving the tent.

Lance collapsed to his knees and let out a loud exhale. He lied down on the ground, huffing for air as Shiro was staring at Lances heaving chest. “I have never talked like that before. Did that scare you because it scared me.”

Shiro nodded and Lance hummed. They both basked in the silence for a moment before Lance sat up and pulled out the photos from his pocket and the letter. He set them down on the ground in a line, the backs facing towards them so Shiro couldn’t see who they were.

Shiro eyed them before looking at Lance as he smiled happily. “Okay for every piece of information you give me is another photo I show you and once we finish we can read this letter together.”

“Who’s it from?” Lance didn’t answer.

Lance adjusted the photos on the ground slightly and Shiro rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“Do I at least get to pick the picture I get to look at?”

“Sure,” Lance grinned and Shiro chuckled again. “So let us begin.”


	6. soldier mcclain, lance

“What do you wanna know?” Shiro sighed, leaning his back against the pole he was cuffed to. Lance had just walked back in and saw that Shiro hadn’t even tried to tamper with the line of photos inches from him. Lance set down the tray of food and the folded clothes and Kinkade remained in the same spot by the door. He was sitting down in a chair, gun on his lap and leaning back, aiming at Shiro.

“Where are your next attacks?”

“Can’t answer that.”

“Alright,” Lance unfolded the pants and held the waist open. Shiro eyed Lance before hesitantly sliding into them with Lance's help. The tank top remained on the floor. “What is your average army and airforce sizes?”

Shiro nervously chuckled, shaking his head as he looked down at the photos. “Depends on the captain.”

“Shiro,” Lance warned.

“Fine,” Shiro chuckled. “Average army sizes are about two hundred to around a thousand soldiers. Air forces are smaller, around fifty to a hundred.” Lance looked back at Kinkade who nodded, writing it down. He turned back to Shiro, sitting across from him. Shiro motioned with his foot to the photo at the edge of the ten that were lined up.

Kinkade sat closer, watching as Lance flipped the photo over to reveal Lance and Keith dancing in a yard. Lance was in a baseball cap, pants, and shoes, his hand clasped in Keiths and his other hand on Keiths lower back while Keith’s hand was on his shoulder. Lances missing jersey was on Keith who had an equal stupid grin on his face as Lance in the photo did. There were party streamers and a house behind them that made them look like they were glowing and above the roof was constellations you could read perfectly.

Lance softly smiled at it. “We were sixteen after defeating the Galran Academy in a baseball game. Hunk had us hold the pose for an hour to get a shot of it and was so proud of it when all the stars came through so clearly.”

“Did he go back into foster care?” Lance shook his head.

“After you were forced to leave he found his mom a few months later but he stayed with Allura during that time. She works for this retail firm but at night she speaks for black rights. It’s pretty awesome.” Lance grinned. “Okay next question, what is your main target?”

“Like country?” Shiro asked back. Lance nodded. “America and Europe.” Shiro pointed to the next one.

Lance nodded and flipped it over. God, he hated the history behind this photo no matter how funny it was.

Keith was wearing a leather vest with no shirt, skinny jeans, and combat boots. His hair was held back in a ponytail and his face was slightly darker than his body. His arm was hooked over Romelles shoulder who donned an opened button-up exposing her bra slightly, a plaid ripped ended skirt that the shirt was tucked into, ripped tights and combat boots. Her hair was held into twin French braids and she had her tongue out, and both of their left hands held middle fingers up.

Shiro laughed. “Who is he with?”

“Romelle. She came to town when we were fourteen,” Lance laughed. “They got along simply on the fact that they both are deep into that whole rock and roll thing going around.”

“How old are they in this?”

“Seventeen-ish? I think Hunk took this like right after Pidge got her driver’s license,” Lance laughed. “The story behind it is terrible.”

“I’m all ears,” Shiro laughed.

Lance told the story. Hunk and Lance were out looking for the two because they weren’t home when Pidge requested that they come to her party. They found the two stumbling out of a warehouse, baked in sweat and smelling of weed and alcohol. They were fucked up and giggly. Romelle needed a little help walking while Keith could not for the life of him walk a straight line so Hunk had to carry him home. Keith was grounded for two months after.

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Keith?” Kinkade asked. ‘Kogane is a straight A student.”

“Keith is a fucking mess under that sweater vest. He’s fixing a bike and got that stupid mullet and almost everyone weekend you can find him partying at a rock concert with Romelle.” Shiro was laughing hard and Lance couldn’t stop smiling.

They continued back and forth through ten photos. A question asked and Shiro pointed at a photo and Lance flipped it over and told him about it.

Photo number 3; Pidge was sitting on the floor reading, Keith was lying on the couch reading and Romelle and Allura were making each other bracelets. Lance was asleep, but Keith had his head on Lances lap. Hunk was chocolate chips into Pidges mouth. It was taken five months ago.

Photo number 4; Romelle was holding a foam sword and hitting it against a cardboard shield Allura was holding. Both have ridiculously happy smiles on and neither saw Pidge in the back with a pillow high in the air. They were sixteen.

Photo number 5; Pidge was sitting on Lance's shoulders while Keith held his hand. Hunk was holding Romelle and Allura by his arms while they swung around. They were at the lake, all completely soaked but Allura and Keith who each had a book somewhere on them. They were fifteen.

Photo number 6; Lances are was hooked around Keith's shoulders, a smile on both of their faces. They were seventeen.

Photo number 7; They were all sitting in a tree on a different branch. Romelle held a peace sign on her fingers and was the highest up. Pidge was lying down on her branch. Keith hung from him, his toes barely touching Lances branch as he tried to push him off. Allura was grinning happily at the camera. Hunk was holding a sign that read, _ ‘Happy Seventeenth birthday Romelle’ _ .

Photo number 8; Pidge held up a thumbs up at the side of the couch while Hunk was in the bottom left corner with a smile. Keith was resting on Lance's chest, a blanket over them with Lance's hands-on Keiths back. Keith's head was tucked into Lance's neck and Allura had written something on the back.  **_‘Keith keeps mumbling Lances name. Lance keeps saying Darling in Spanish’_ ** .

Photo number 9; The kiss.

“Holy shit,” Shiro mumbled as Lance flipped it over. “This is  _ you _ and  _ Keith _ .”

“Yeah.” Lance scratched the back of his neck, blush creeping onto his face. “We were sixteen in that photo—his birthday.”

“Lance, you and Keith—how?” Shiro looked up at Lance with an astonished look on his face. Lance nervously laughed.

“That’s a story we don’t tell,” Lance looked at Kinkade who only gave him a smirk making Lance blush more. “It’s almost been three years.”

“Three?” Shiro breathed out. He fell quiet for a moment. “I missed so much.”

Lance shrugged his shoulders, leaning back onto his palm. “It was hard at first. Keith refused to go to school and Allura basically had to drag him by the ankles after the first few weeks with you gone. His drug use got worse—”

“Drug use?” Shiro sputtered. “Like he actually still uses narcotics?” Lance nodded.

“One of the few things we don’t like talking about. I know the bare minimum of his drug use and he knows the bare minimum of what’s up here,” Lance lifted his hand, tapping his fingers against his temple twice before dropping his hand at his side.

“He doesn’t know anything about the stuff you think about?”   


“He doesn’t know anything about the  _ bad _ stuff I think about,” Lance corrected. “Well, he knows some things. Small triggers and shit but...that...that’s kind of it.”

“What kind of stuff has he seen?” Lance shifted uneasily under Shiro’s gaze. He knows he’s asking as a friend—a caregiver, a guardian—but under their circumstances, Lance can’t bring himself to answer. He’s already saying too much by showing him the photos of the people he cares too much about—of the people he’s fighting for.

“McClain,” he looked over at Kinkade. He taps his pen to his notebook. “One more question.”

“Right, sorry,” Lance shook his head slightly, mumbling. Lance cleared his throat. “What is your greatest fear in losing this war?”

Shiro answered slowly like he was unsure of how to put his words. Kinkade wrote down each word Shiro said. As soon as Shiro was done talking Lance gave a soft smile and flipped the last photo over.

Keith has his arms crossed over the back of a chair, his head turned to his right shoulder with a soft smile on his face but you couldn’t see his entire face. The tattoo was in the sunlight and Keith’s entire back was shown even if it was to only get his shoulder. Keith’s hair was pushed out of the way of his shoulder, and the arch forward in Keith’s back his waist seem smaller than it was. Kinkade whistled.

“You got a petite man on your hands.”

Lance chuckled, blushing at the photo and how the shadows and highlights on Keith made him even more stunning. “He’s small but this just makes him look smaller.” Lance traced his thumb over the tattoo. “We were going to get these matching tattoos together. My lion would be in blue though.”

“What color is his in?” Shiro asked.

“Red.” Lance chuckled, scratching the side of his nose with his thumb. “We joked when we were younger that he was a Samurai because he was so good with knives and shit and he called me Sharpshooter because when I threw a rock at something it always hit.”

“So you would have two rifles instead of swords?” Shiro asked. Lance nodded once.

Kinkade hummed and stood up from the ground. He dusted himself off before making his way to the entrance. “I’ll get these turned in to Iverson. It’s not much for as much time as we spent in here but it’s more than anyone's gotten.”

Lance turned back to Shiro when Kinkade left. Shiro eyed the letter before looking at Lance. “I’m guessing that’s from Keith,” he nodded his head to the letter and Lance hummed, picking it up and breaking it open.

He pulled out the papers, watching as a picture fluttered to the ground face down. They both left it like that. Lance cleared his throat before reading.

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ I know you don’t like hearing about my drug use but too fucking bad. The night I got your letters Romelle and I went to this rock party. She said it’d be intense but, as usual, I didn’t listen. Two hours later I was convinced you had died out there because of ONE LINE of cocaine. I kept wishing you were there to calm me down. I really fucking miss you and got that tattoo out of the impulse of missing you a week after you left. My Mom is still pissed about me getting it and Pidge and Allura won’t stop poking it no matter how many times I tell her it fucking  _ hurts _ when she does that. Romelle said since I got so paranoid I have to send you a letter every day, but we both know I’m lousy so...sorry. _

_ I hope everything is going well and you’re not hurt. How did your mission go? Did you get what you were looking for? _

_ Anyway, I started a new book. It’s called Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers. I think you’d like it. It’s a mystery book and I know you don’t like reading but, I still think you’d like it. _

_ Allura knows better than anyone I won’t keep up with writing you every day, so instead for a punishment she and Hunk decided that for getting so panicked about you dying that I had to send you an overly sensual photo of myself. _

_ It took thirty-five dollars and a two-hour long conversation to convince me through my bathroom door for them to get me to do it. I beg of you that you burn the photo as soon as you open this because it was the most embarrassing photo shoot I have ever done. Pidge won’t stop laughing. _

_ If you love me you’ll burn the photo. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Lances cheeks were burning and Shiro wiggling his eyebrows wasn’t making it any better. Lance, very slowly with a shaking hand, reached for the photo and picked it up. He slowly turned the photo over, his eyes widened as he felt his pulse skyrocket.

Keith was lying on his couch, with nothing but an ever-so-thin piece of silk over his lap. His legs were cross and the fabric ended at his hips and went to his mid-thigh, draping over the side of the couch. He was on his right side, his back to the camera with one arm over his side while the other was holding his body up, resting on a stack of pillows. His tattoo was shown in all its glory. Keith had his head looking to the right, his hair pulled into a ponytail to allow the tattoo to shine. In Keiths left hand was a champagne bottle, unopened and resting atop his hip.

Lance had never wanted to be shot dead on sight more than anything in his life.

This was too much for his small bisexual heart.

“Please don’t tell me my little brother is naked?” Shiro laughed, a horrific look on his face. Lance shook his head, a small smile spreading on his lips through the blush.

“Something better.”

“I do not want to see.” Shiro shuddered.

Lance looked at the bottom of the picture, a small smile at Pidges handwriting. 

 

**_‘Waiting for you Soldier’_ **


	7. waiting for you soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> letters back and forth  
> uwu

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ It’s May and I haven’t heard from you since March. I know I shouldn’t be worried as much as I am but I am seriously considering getting a physical so I can know if you’re alive. Strong Poison was a fantastic read, I want to read it to you when you get back. Please send a letter back. _

_ Love your worried Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

June 15, ‘41. The mailing ship keeps getting knocked off course and we keep moving campsites. I haven’t been injured. Killed nearly twenty. Rolo got his leg shot on our first mission and last week he had to amputate. The Holts designed him a leg that’ll last further into a fight. We’re not going home anytime soon. I miss you.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ June 23, ‘41. Romelle and I broke into the Galran Academy and painted over their sign that said that Whites are better than Blacks. My Mother applauded us and we weren’t caught. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

**Dear McClain,**

**June 24, ‘41.**

**It’s been a while since anyone has heard from you besides Keith. Your Mom told Hunk that you can only send letters to one person so we just let you have your thing with Keith, a trade of letters back and forth. We all miss you, like a lot. I hope you don’t get mad at the fact that we both still go fucking crazy together and go out partying. It keeps his mind off the fact that you’re at risk of being shot. We broke into my high school and ruined all the racist's signs. We miss you.**

**Sincerely, Romelle**

 

Dear Samurai,

July 24, ‘41. Rachels got sick from being near infected people too much. Marco, Veronica and I haven’t left her side since she was diagnosed. We still have the captive and are slowly letting them integrate into the camp. I am in charge of them. Killed nearly forty.

Also, congratulations on attacking Galran. Bastards know they deserve it.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ July 28, ‘41. I’m sorry about Rachel. She doesn’t deserve to go so soon. I hope she makes it. Hunk is working at The Balmera as a cook and finally asked Shay out. They went on a date last Friday and Hunk hasn’t stopped talking about it since. He’s so proud of himself. Pidge and Allura are being their usual selves and I am left in my room with your jacket wondering if I’ll get to run my fingers through your hair again. _

_ Happy birthday. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Attached to the letter was a photo of Keith sitting at his desk with a present on the furniture. On the back read,  _ ‘There’s a present waiting for you when you get back.’ _

 

Dear Samurai,

August 1, ‘41. Rachel didn’t make it. Marco is having her body be sent back to the states. We hope it maintains its state until she can be buried.

Killed nearly two hundred. I am the best sniper this unit has and I’ve gone on more solo kill missions than anyone else. As a gift Veronica took me into town and let me get our tattoo. I love you.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

Attached was a photo of Lances left shoulder blade with an identical lion tattoo as Keith’s. The only difference was the Katana’s were replaced with rifles.

Keith noticed that he had a name written on his left ribs.

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ August 16, ‘41. I am so deeply sorry about what happened to Rachel. She did not deserve to go like that. Her body was delivered to the church this morning and her service is in two days. She remains intact. Allura and Hunk are going to a nearby college and I accepted the job at the mechanics. My bike will have to wait. I need to get some money to buy parts before I can work on it again. Romelle introduced us to Ina. She’s a sweet lady. She’s going to college with Hunk and Allura. Romelle is being an activist and we’re all very proud of her. _

_ I noticed the name on your ribs in the last photo, whose name is it? _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

September 2, ‘41. It’s Rachel’s name. Killed nearly four hundred. My mind isn’t doing to good. Ezor was shot, lost her left leg and was sent home. She was trying to protect Zethrid, but the poor girl still got shot through the head. No one listened to me when I said it was dangerous. I still don’t trust Lotor. Griffin is opening up to me more, told me about the girl he’s waiting for him back home. A Nadia Razavi. She went to our high school. I love you.

Six people left in my platoon.

Love, Sharpshooter.

  
  


_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ September 12, ‘41. Ezor died at sea. Her leg got infected and she had a note in hand saying Zethrid and her were lovers. Both of their headstones are next to each other in the cemetery. Every weekend Pidge drops new flowers off for Rachel for you since you can’t do it yourself. I’m sorry about your head and I wish I could be there to kiss your bad thoughts away. I love you more than you can ever dream of. School started two weeks ago and I got reminded of Shiro saying he wanted to become a college professor. I hope he’s okay wherever he is. Allura has made penpals with someone at war for her journalism class at college. I miss you. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ October 23, ‘41. I wish you were here with me on my birthday. I did our tradition of going to the lake and sitting on that big oak tree to watch the leaves fall on the water. I ate my birthday cake alone this year. Moms been arrested and so has Romelle. Ina is working on bailing them out. Razavi is a nice girl, I can see why Griffin likes her. I love you. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ November 10, ‘41. I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope you’re okay and pray you’re alive every night, and you know I’m not one for praying. Please come back to me. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

December 5, ‘41. Two thousand, six hundred and forty-two people have died at my hands. I am a monster.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ December 12, ‘41. You are NOT a monster. You are a goofball and a flirt who steals flowers from his work because they look nice in my hair. You’re doing what you need to do to make sure as many people as possible don’t have to live your life in the future. If I could have it my way this war would be over, you would be in my arms and we’d be roasting marshmallows on an open flame in my living room. _

_ Love, Samurai _

_ P.S. I am still waiting for you. _

 

Dear Samurai,

December 25, ‘41. Merry Christmas. Snow is beautiful, you’d like it.

Love, Sharpshooter.

 

Attached was a photo of Lance, and Keith had never seen someone look so old yet so gleeful. Lance had bags under his eyes and a small scar on the left side of his upper lip and a scar through his right eyebrow, stopping and then continuing below his eye slightly. There was no scar  _ on _ his eye, but it was pretty damn close to it. A small smile was on Lance's lips with something white in his hair. Snow.

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ January 1, ‘42. I miss you. _

_ Love, Samurai. _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ January 12, ‘42. Romelle cut her hair to her collarbones and Pidge is dressing more masculine. Hunk and Shay are getting more serious and Allura has fallen in love with her pen pal. I hope to hear from you again soon. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ February 14, ‘42. Happy Valentine's day. I wish you were here to feed me chocolate covered strawberries like you did last year. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

February 26, ‘42. I wish I was there as well. I miss how you feel in my arm.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ March 2, ‘42. You’ve been gone a year and it feels like two weeks ago you left. I hope you’re okay. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Samurai, _

_ March 16, ‘42. I’ve been benched for my mental health. Veronica is saying I can’t fight if my brain is screaming at me to die when I have you guys waiting for me back home. Marco and Veronica are still alive since they don’t have to go on the front grounds a lot. I’m teaching Griffin and Lotor how to use a sniper. A new person was added to our platoon. His name is Adam. _

_ Love, Sharpshooter _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ March 26, ‘42. I’m sorry about your head. I hope you feel better soon and can continue this fight so you can be back in my arms soon. I have three new books you should read if you ever get a shipment of literature. _

_ All In A Lifetime by Frank Buck _

_ A Gun For Sale by Graham Greene _

_ The Listerdale Mystery by Agatha Christie _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

**_Dear Lance,_ **

**_July 1, 1942. This is the first time I’m writing. Hunk, Allura and Romelle are scared to. Well, scared isn’t the right word. More like they think it’s you and Keith’s thing. I’m writing to you now because I’m just at a lost. I’ve graduated, and have nothing planned for me. My mother wants me to go into the dining business since it’s one of the few places that’ll hire a woman but I don’t want to do that. Since you’ve left I’ve just felt this aching hole in my chest. I don’t want to say I miss you, but I really, really do miss you. I hope you come back to us soon._ **

**_Sincerely, Katie “Pidge” Holt_ **

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ July 28, ‘42. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Happy twentieth birthday. Another present is waiting for you on my desk. Hunk and Shay have moved in together and are planning to open their own diner together. Since you wanted to study astrology they’re naming it The Atlas. The guy who held the world on his shoulders. Pidge, Allura, and Romelle are going to be working there since it’s hard for them to find jobs and it’s just friendly support. New people have been drafted and I was almost put into the fight until my Mom made sure I didn’t. Upside, I’m not going to war. The downside, I have a new scar expanding from my jaw and going to the inner corner of my eye covering my cheek. I don’t mind it. Pidge says I look badass. _

_ Love, Samurai _

_ P.S. I’m not moving out yet since we both said we’d move in together. _

 

Lance smiled down at the letter, pulling out the picture Keith sent of the scar. It was big alright, but it just made Keith look adorable more than badass. But that was in Lance’s opinion. 

“New letter from Keith?” Lance looked over at Adam as he entered the tent. Lance nodded once. “Have you shown Shiro yet?”

“No,” Lance stood up, shaking slightly. He groaned as he held his hand over his ribs. The bullet just barely missed his lungs.

“Hey take it easy,” Adam placed his hands on Lance's shoulders and pushed him down to the cot. Lance sighed then groaned. “We’re just sitting ducks right now. We don’t need you to half-ass your recovery.”

“I know,” Lance lowered his head slightly, his eyes on the picture of Keith's wide grin. “Hey, do you know if we’re getting a shipment of books anytime soon?”

 

_ Dear Samurai, _

_ August 4, ‘42. I got shot so sorry for the late reply. I’m fine, just need to recover. Turns out we get a new shipment of books every month and are kept in crates in the storage tent. Agatha Christie has a way with words I cannot describe. You should read Murder on the Orient Express. I think you’d love it. I’ve been benched again for the wound but since I’m still in good mental health and due to where our base is located, I won’t be sent home anytime soon. Send my love to Pidge. I got her letter and tell her that everything she’s going through will be over soon. She doesn’t have to worry that much about her future as long as she’s happy. _

_ Love, Sharpshooter _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ August 14, ‘42. I swear to god if I found out your dead or missing in action I will personally march over there, kill Hitler and then kill you myself. I can’t spend another waking moment with the thought of you getting hurt, Loverboy. I can’t bear the thought. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

August 30, ‘42. I won’t get hurt anyone, or at least try to. Adam, the new guy in my platoon, he’s really nice. He gets along with the prisoner really well, and yes, even after a year we still have the captive. They’re kind, much kinder than the other Japanese soldiers. They respect our combat ways and help us come up with better ones to better defeat the German and Japanese armies. I’m told in three months I can get back to fighting.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ September 14, ‘42. I can’t stop thinking about Shiro being forced to fight. He’s been through enough. Have you seen him yet? _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

September 26, ‘42. 3v1tpac 3ht s1 0r1hS

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ Send my love to your comrade for cooperating. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Attached to the letter was a photo of Keith. A grin was on his face and he was holding a clearly aged photo of Shiro, Adam, and Keith from before Shiro got deported.

Lance handed the photo over to Shiro. The man chuckled a smile on his lips as he looked down at it. “He’s grown so much since he was thirteen.”

“He’s matured a lot,” Lance sighed, a smile on his lips. “You can keep that.”

“What?” Shiro watched as Lance struggled to push himself off of the ground, his legs wobbling but his hands remaining firm and steady. Lance stood up straight, leaning back and cracking his back before smiling down at Shiro. Since a year ago of captivity, Shiro's tent slowly grew in commodities that Lance asked for. A cot was put in place for Shiro, along with semi-regular meals. In turn, Shiro told them everything they wanted to know.

“Keep it. As a gift for helping us out.” Lance grinned.

“Lance I...thank you,” Shiro softly smiled.

 

Dear Samurai,

October 12, ‘42. He sends his love back.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

Dear Samurai,

October 23, ‘42. Happy birthday, Mullet. For your birthday I carved your initials into the butt of my rifle. That way you’re always with me, I also keep that tattoo picture you sent me in my breast pocket.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ November 3, ‘42. That is a gift I would love to see. A gift I really want though is you in my arms. I miss you so much it’s not fair. Romelle and I partied on my birthday at night, and during the day I sat at the lake on our oak tree and carved our names into the trunk. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

Dear Samurai,

November 13, ‘42. I’m back in the field. I’m going on a mission that I’ve been told will take a few months. We’re trying to take out one of the heads of a German army. My platoon is coming with me and if we’re successful we’ll be taking a few years off the wartime. I won’t be able to write to you until next year. For now, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and New Year. I love you so much and hope I make it through the mission to see you again.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ November 25, ‘42. I just got your letter. I hope you last through the mission and end this war sooner. I love you. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ December 2, ‘42. I miss you extremely and hope you live. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ January 4, ‘43. Please respond soon. I miss you too much and I keep worrying. _

_ Love your worried Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ February 14, ‘43. Happy Valentines Day. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ March 2, ‘43. You’ve been gone for two years. I miss you more every day. I got my ear pierced on Valentine's day for you. You always said silver would look good on my skin. _

_ Love, Samurai _

  
  


Dear Samurai,

March 3, ‘43. The soldier McClain, Lance has been deemed MIA, Missing In Action since December 27, 1942. Last known whereabouts were in a battle with the German military in the East woods from Auschwitz. A military investigation is underway. Please refrain from mailing this person until further notice.

Signed, Commander Iverson, Co-Signed Platoon leader, Lotor


	8. hoping, praying, wishing

Keith hadn’t stopped sobbing for three days after he got the letter. His mind was a rambling mess on what had happened to Lance and his only hope was that he wasn’t dead.

“Keith?”

He curled further into himself at the sound of his name. The olive green jacket Lance had left him had been beautifully tucked away in Keith's closet so it wouldn’t get ruined, but now he was wearing it and crying into the hood. He was shaking and the dryness of his throat only got worse the more sobs he let curl from his lungs.

“Oh Keith,” Krolia walked into the room, sitting on the edge of Keith's bed as the boy curled into himself. She held her hand above his shoulder, gently patting his arm only to have Keith shrug her away. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

“H-He’s missing,” Keith stammered. “He’s been killed. I know it.”

Krolia sighed, looking over at the doorway at Hunk, Romelle, Pidge, Allura, Ina, and Nadia. Pidge was holding her hands to her mouth while Allura and Romelle were crying into Hunks chest.

“You can’t be sure he’s dead.” Krolia sighed as she turned her head back to her son.

“He’s missing in action. He might as well be dead.” Keith heaved through his sobs. “God I should have stopped him from going. I should have broken his leg. I-I…” Keith bit his fist, his tears sliding down the side of his face to the hood.

“That was two years ago, you can’t stop anything now.” Krolia sighed, placing her hand on her son's side and running her hand through the locks of hair that came from the hood. “All you can do is pray that he’s alive.”

Keith was silent for a moment. Keith licked his lips from salty tears before he slowly lifting his shaking hand to Krolia and pushing her hand away from his hair. He lowered his left hand slowly, moving it from his hair to his arm before gripping at the orange band that laid on his bicep. “Please,” Keith's voice was small, fragile and cracking. “Please just leave me alone.”’

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

His eyes were burning and his head was aching; his eyes feeling like they were being torn from his skull while his brain tumbled around his head cavity. His body was trembling, but that’s what it tended to do when he was hung from the ceiling by his wrists and he had only been exposed to cold weather for the past few months.

Lance wondered what day it was.

He wondered if Shiro and Adam were reading Keith's letters to him.

He wondered if Adam even made it back to the camp to warn the others and get back up.

“Hey boy, psst,” Lance hummed in response. A small bit of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt, right? A hot hand touched his stomach and he melted into it. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Just...smmmmall nap,” Lance mumbled out, his head dropping as he felt his body get lighter. Something wet was running down his legs, but he didn’t care what it was. The wet thing was warm.

“No, keep your eyes open. Look at me, keep telling me about your home.” Home?

Lance fluttered his eyes open. His eyesight was blurry. Most likely from not drinking or eating anything for the past few days, or was it weeks? They could make out the blurry outline of wrinkles and orange hair. A puffy mustache. Wore down purple eyes. They didn’t look like Keith’s.

Keith.

“Keith?” Lance tried to take a step forward, wincing as his foot lifted and his body jerked at the feeling of his wrists taking all the weight of his body. He pushed back to his toes, his lungs heaving as the person in front of him held Lance still.

“Tell me about your home, son. You said you had an older brother, Loe wasn’t it?”

Loe? “L...Lu...Luis.” Lance corrected. He felt the coldness of a chain hit his ribs. Was the man treating him chained up to?

“Right, and you have another brother and two other sisters? What are their names?”

“Marco ‘n Veronica.”

“What about your other sister?”

Other sister? Rachel. “Rachels dead,” Lance mumbled.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the man mumbled back. “What about your friends? What are your friend's names?”

“Pidge ‘n Allura ‘n Romelle ‘n Hunk,” Lance mumbled. His throat was burning, and it didn’t help a cough that boiled out of him loudly. He lowered his head down to his chest as he coughed, watching as something wet hit his chest. It wasn’t clear fully like it had a red tint to it.

“Here, drink,” the man held a cup to Lance's lips. Lance slowly drank it, his mind not deciding if it was water or if it was juice. It had to be water, why would they give prisoners juice? “How about a girl waiting for you?”

“N-No girl,” Lance heaved for air after coughing. The man lowered the cup and his hands went back to Lance's stomach. Something rough started wrapping around his sides. Lance thought they were arms. “Keith.”

“Who’s this Keith?”

“Keith is..is my…” Lance bobbed his head, his vision dancing with black spots.

“No, stay with me son. C’Mon, tell me who Keith is.”

“Keith is my…”

Keith is my boyfriend.

Something hot splashed over his body and Lance hissed at the feeling. It was burning and he hated it but he was warm. He was warm and wet but he was outside and suddenly cold.

When had he gone outside? He was just inside but now he was lying face down in the remaining slush of what was once snow. Lance slowly picked himself up, his legs wobbling as his arms tried to push him from the ground. He got to one foot and slowly to the other. He turned around slowly to the German guards glaring at him. They were holding a bucket of hot water, and Lance could tell simply by the steam pouring from it.

“Tell us where your base is!” Their English was terrible. Lance could barely understand them.

“I-I don’t know where I am!” Lance shouted back. Everything in him told him to run but he could see the anger in his enemies eyes. How they looked like they weren’t going to give up or give in anytime soon.

Lance knew he was screwed.

The two soldiers nodded at each other and the one holding the bucket through the scolding water at Lance. The boy screamed loudly as it burned his chest. 

Lance hissed as the bucket was thrown at his feet. He glared up at the guards, watching as a new bucket of scalding water was put into both of their hands. “Where is your base!” The soldiers shouted. Lance looked around him quickly. If he could lie about a direction then...then he could have at least a day to get his mind together to think of an escape.

He was in the middle of the wood. It seemed to only be the five soldiers and him, and whoever was also there that treated Lance. He couldn’t see anything through the trees, but he could see the scattered plots of graves around the hut. Each plot had something different hanging on it. An American Military dog tag. A British jacket. A Japanese cap. 

There were hundreds of them.

Lance pointed to the East. “Over there!” Lance screamed back as the two soldiers aimed to throw the buckets of water at Lance again. “My base is East of here.”

The two soldiers nodded at each other and set down the buckets. A jacket was thrown over Lance's shoulders and he was pushed into the hut.

He stumbled to the feet as the door closed, watching as four soldiers started heading East, leaving one behind to guard the door.

“Did you really rat out your own base?” Lance turned quickly to the shadows of the hut.

“What? No I—Who are you?” Lance pressed his back against the door and took in his surroundings. The hut had literally nothing in it besides the cuffs hanging from the ceiling.

The person crawled out from the shadows and Lance watched as he pushed himself off the floor and held out a cuffed hand to him. “You’ve been tortured for three months so of course, you don’t remember me,” he mumbled, “I’m Coran.”

“L-Lance,” Lance slowly shook the mans—Corans—hand. “I-I have no idea where I am but I didn’t rat out my base.”

“Alrighty then,” Coran grinned. “Now tell me about that Keith you were so worried about,” Coran sat on the ground, patting the pavement below him.

“Where I am first of—and how do you know about Keith!” Lance felt anger boil in his body.

“They were draining your blood from your body to get information. You kept saying his name,” Coran gave a sad smile. “They told me to treat you. You were dying.”

“O-Oh, thanks,” Lance sighed. He slowly brought himself to Coran, sitting by his side. 

“A young man has so many more years than me, you deserve to live.”

“So do you, Coran,” Lance leaned his back against the wall.

“So, who’s Keith?” Coran chuckled and lifted his brow. Lance blushed and scratched the nape of his neck.

“He’s uh, my boyfriend.” He blushed more at the thought of Keith jumping into his arms when he got back...if he got back.

“Where you from?” Coran gave a soft smile like he couldn’t give anything else than that.

“America,” Lance answered.

“You thinking of marrying him?” Coran lifted a brow. Lance blushed, nodding his head.

“But it would be super illegal so we were just thinking of moving in together.” Lance blushed.

“You can still hold the ceremony,” Coran chuckled. “I’m a priest. When the war ends I can come from Australia and bless your wedding.”

“I—You’d really do that?” Lance couldn’t believe his ears. “Most priests in my hometown preach against gays.”

“I’m not most priests and I’m not from your hometown,” Coran chuckled softly. “The verse in the Bible; the man shall not lie with a man? It was translated wrong from Latin. It’s supposed to be a man shall not lie with the boy.” Lance slowly nodded. “Are you a religious man, Lance?”

“I only pray when I need to.” Lance rested his hands on his lap.

“Would you like to pray right now?”

Lance licked his lips. Keith was probably told he was gone, and that broke his heart. “Yeah.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

It was dark, and Lance would be convinced the guard was gone if it wasn’t for the fire burning outside. Lance held the jacket around himself, shivering as Coran was huddled into himself. “How long do you think it’ll be before they kill us?”

“I’ve been here a few months before you and they killed off my platoon in a matter of weeks. I’m only being kept alive for the fact that I’m a priest and for leverage.” Coran blew air at his hands, rubbing them together to warm them.

“I don’t even remember what happened to my platoon,” Lance mumbled.

“I do,” Coran sighed. Lance looked up at him. “Five of them made it out, two injured. One was shot through the head during the attack, and you were captured.”

“W-Who was shot?” Lance sat up slightly.

“He was the only man in your platoon that wore glasses.” Coran motioned to his eyes. “He was buried over to the west of here. His dog tags are on the grave marker.”

Lance felt like he was going to throw up. Adam. Adam was dead. Adam; the man who got too close to Shiro during college. Adam; the man who moved away out of dread shortly after Shiro was deported. Adam; the man that spent nights with Shiro just to sneak a few kisses.

“Adam h-he...fuck,” Lance ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Fuck. Shit, this is my fault.” Lance gripped at his hair.

Coran moved closer to Lance, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This was not your fault son. His death was honorable.”

“I-I promised someone that I would bring him back alive.” Lance let out a shaky breath. He banged his head against the wall behind him, tears pricking his eyes. Lance wrapped his arms around himself. He heard the crinkling of paper in his pocket. Lance slowly opened it, pulling out the image of Keith with his tattoo showing. He looked down at the picture, suddenly wishing he grabbed another one. He knew he would forget what Keith looked like if he was in here for any longer then a year.

He knew he would forget everyone he knew if he was in there longer than a few months as well.


	9. letters written to no one

Keith sat at his desk, tapping his pen to the paper on his desk sitting in front of him. The air blowing through his window didn’t help his concentration, neither did the music coming from his living room.

He didn’t know why he continued to write letters to Lance. He wasn’t mailing them anymore, they just clumped together on his desk. Two months worth of letters were in a pile on his desk. Keith sighed, throwing his pen to the paper and running his hands down his face.

He looked up at his ceiling and leaned back in his chair. Why was he torturing himself like this?

_ "Au revoir but not goodbye, let me hear you whisper this. Au revoir but not goodbye, leave me with a farewell kiss—” _ Plays through the radio in the house, fluttering the music into Keith’s room. He softly smiled. That was a song Lance hummed to him the night he was drafted. He listened to the static of the radio as his mother switched the channels.

“...The...A—And in more war efforts we have found that five out of eight men in a platoon will end up dead. At least twenty men have been captured on a base West of Germany and over twenty thousand men have been pronounced dead from missing in action—”

Keith felt his ears ringing. Would Lance be dead?  _ Was _ he dead? He pressed his fingers into his eyes until static showed in them. He watched the white and black dance together for a moment before lowering his hand to his desk.

This wasn’t fair.

Keith looked back down at his letter, picked up his pen, and continue to write.

He had to hope.

 

_ Dear Sharpshooter, _

_ July 28, ‘43. I miss you more every day. New models of cars are being brought in and I’m the only one who seems to understand how to fix them. My pay has been changed since I get more work done than everyone else. I’m almost done with the motorcycle. I just need to get a new engine, the other one is shot. I’m thinking of painting it red since you say I’m Red and you’re Blue. Please come back to me. Happy twenty-first birthday. _

_ Love, Samurai _

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance leaned his head against the wall, listening to the words of his captors through the walls of the dark hut. He could hear Coran sleeping across from him. It was night, Lance should have been asleep but instead, he was by the door listening. He knew enough German to get him by to understand. He was glad Coran was teaching him some.

“Diese zwei Idioten werden nicht lange hier sein. Der Amerikaner wird nicht sprechen, also müssen wir ihn loswerden. Er log über die Richtung, sie waren nicht Ost.”

Lance blinked away his anger. They would not kill him. He would rather but up a fight then have them kill him here.

“Machst du Witze? Dieser Amerikaner hat Informationen. Wir werden ihn nicht töten. Wir müssen ihn dazu bringen, zu reden.” Don’t kill him, we will make him talk.   
  
“Wie? Er weigert sich, bis wir versuchen, ihn zu töten.” How?   
“Wir nehmen jedes Mal ein Glied, wenn er uns falsch macht.” Take limbs when he doesn’t.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance growled as he was lifted by his arms and dragged out of the hut. The sun burned his eyes as he was dragged to a table set out on the dirt. He was thrown onto it. Four of the solides held down his arms and legs and he growled as a fifth threw Coran to the side of the table. The soldier picked Coran up by his cuffs, glaring at Lance as a knife was placed in Corans hands.

“Where is your base!” The soldier sloppily yelled. Lance didn’t budge. He pulled on the soldiers to pull away and run. “Cut him!” He commanded to Coran. Coran blinked, flinching when he was yelled to do it again, a gun being pressed to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Coran whispered, pushing the tip of the knife into Lances chest and dragging the cut along his right peck. Lance suppressed his screams. The pain lingered long after the cut had been done.

“Where is your base!”

They always kept moving, so how would Lance know? Answer, he didn’t. Three months ago they would be North but now? He wouldn’t know.

“Let me go!” Lance shouted instead. The gun cocked and Coran cut a line far below the tattoo on his ribs.

Since getting Rachel's name, he ended up getting his entire families names. He had all his siblings, then his parents names, then his nieces and nephews names. He wondered if he would need to get any names added.

“Where’s your base or lose limb!” The soldier shouted, grabbing Corans hands and holding the knife over Lances hand, spreading his fingers and holding it over his middle finger.

Lances eyes bugged slightly. He felt his throat go dry before opening his mouth. “W-We move a lot in no pattern. I don’t know where they went. They’d be gone by now.”

“Base now!” The knife was held closer to his finger.

“South! Go South!” Lance shouted. “Go Twenty miles South and three miles West!” Lance knew he was completely wrong, or at least hoped so.

The soldier smirked and nodded to the others who let Lance go. The boy slowly sat up and then was pushed into Corans arms as the knife was taken from him. The two were the pushed back into the darkened hut and they listened to the soldiers leave.

Lance watched through the small eye hole as a soldier was left behind to watch them.

“American troops can’t have a plan, can they?”

Lance sighed, shaking his head as he turned around to Coran. “We move our base every couple of months just to stay hidden but fuck if I know where it is now.” Lance lowered his head, looking down at the small strips of blood dripping down his body from the cuts. “Thanks for not going that deep.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you but…”

“I know,” Lance softly smiled. “I just hope Keith doesn’t think I’m dead.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Keith didn’t know when he decided to leave his house. Most likely when all the songs on the radio started to remind him a little too much of Lance, or maybe it was the fact that his mother had a meeting at his house and Kolivan was giving him too many sympathetic looks.

Maybe that’s why now he was sitting in a corner booth at The Atlas, drinking a Coke-a-Cola while watching Allura, Romelle and Pidge do their jobs.

Allura walked to his table, a scowl on her face as she set down a fudge sundae. He lifted a brow, watching her as she gave a fake smile. “From the woman in the corner.” Keith looked slightly past Allura, looking at the girl in waving slightly at him.

He was surprised for the fact that he was clearly asian, yet she was white. She wore her hair in pigtails and wore a bright blue dress, and all Keith could think was why the fuck would a white girl give him food?

“Is it whites hour or something?”

“You know Hunk doesn’t do that,” Allura sighed, shaking her head. “Just...I don’t know but don’t eat it. You’re lactose intolerant and I don’t want to hear about you blowing up a toilet.” Keith laughed and rolled his eyes, watching as Allura walked away with a small smile.

He looked from the sundae to the girl. She was staring at him. Wait, why is she walking over to him? No, she shouldn’t be walking over to him this will only lead to bad things.

“Hey,” she smiled kindly.

“Hi?” Keith gave a small wave.

“Do you not like chocolate?” She tilted her head to the side slightly.

“I’m lactose intolerant so I can't really eat it,” Keith nervously grinned as she slid herself across from him at the booth. He felt Alluras blue eyes glare into her. “Anything I can help you with?”

“I just want your company,” she grinned again, but her lavender eyes spoke differently. “I’m Quintanilla.”

“Keith.”

They fell into a slow conversation, lead mostly by Quintanilla as she rambled on about how the cooks in her kitchen were terrible unlike the white cook here.

“You know the cook here is black right?” Keith asked.

“No, he’s not,” she retorted. “He’s white. I know it.”

“No, he’s black. His parents own that baked goods shop in the square.” Keith slowly stood up, looking at the clock on the wall. “I have to get to work early tomorrow, so goodbye.”

“Wait,” she stood up abruptly, grabbing his wrist. Keith froze as eyes landed on him, negative and positive. “Will you walk me home? It’s too dark out for me to do it myself.”

Keith darted his eyes up to Allura who shook her head. Keith looked down to the girl again, stepping back slightly. “I have to get home and I don’t think we live on the same side of town.” Keith scratched the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Please? It’s so dark and I don’t want to get lost.”

Keith licked his lips. “Uhm…” He looked at Allura again, who just sighed as she continued serving people. “O-Okay.”

“Great!” Quintanilla grinned and pulled Keith out of the diner and outside. She slid her hand into his and Keith felt like pulling his hand away. He should pull his hand away. He had Lance to wait for and all the whites on the street were looking at him weird.

Weird wouldn’t be right.

More like infuriated, agitated, hostile.

She slowly let go of his hand and Keith lagged behind her slightly. They had no conversation, but every few minutes she would look behind herself to make sure he was still there.

They turned a lot of corners, and Keith was sure that by the time they even got to her house he would need to use her phone to call the diner to tell Romelle to pick him up. Did the diner even have a phone? He should have checked before leaving. 

After half an hour of walking, Keith was sure that they had been going in loops like a maze. “Are we almost there? I need to get ready for work tomor —”

A punch to the jaw was the thing Keith least expected.

It was weak and clearly from her because when he narrowed eyes on her she was holding her knuckles, but three men were behind her, al looking vaguely similar with lavender eyes and blonde hair.

“You follow our baby sister?” The tallest asked.

“What? No. She asked me to take her home—”

“Stop makin’ excuses Ching-Chong.” Another growled. The three moved past Quintanilla and around Keith.

Keith yelped as the one behind him picked him up and slammed him against the brick wall by them. Keith groaned in pain as they held him in place and punched him repeatedly.

Minutes later they left laughing with him bleeding out slightly on the concrete. 

He was shaking and curled into himself.

His shirt was ripped at the collar and getting soaked in the blood that was dripping from the cuts on his cheeks and from his nose. His white pants were now browned from the dust of the bricks, stained with his blood and ripped to the point of never being able to wear them again.

He let out a small crack in his throat, taking in a shaking breath before placing his hands on the concrete. He slowly lifted himself up. He wished he had fought, but Shiro said that’d just get him in trouble… or more trouble then he was in before. If he never met Shiro, Keith knew he’d be dead by now for constantly picking fights with white kids who teased him.

Keith hissed as he dragged himself down the streets slightly. A limp was visible in his leg as he walked, and he was holding his right shoulder to stop the bleeding from a cut. But yet, he held his head high. The scar on his cheek was never touched, but the smaller cuts on his forehead, by his eyes and cheeks were still there.

But he held his head high, limping the rest of the way home with the pitiful looks of people who had been through this kind of treatment too, and angered looks of people who wanted him to suffer.


	10. paper skin and glass bones

“Fuck that hurts!” Keith hissed loudly as Hunk pressed the cotton ball of hydrogen peroxide against the cut on his shoulder. Hunk sighed, lowering it as more blood left the wound. 

“Dude you really need to go to the hospital. These things not going to close up.” Hunk set the ball down, looking over slightly as Romelle and Shay who stood in the doorway of the bathroom. “Romelle get your car—”

“No,” Keith growled. He eyed the inside of the first aid kit before pulling out a needle and surgery thread. Keith placed both items on the counter of the sink before standing up and shimming his belt off of his hips.

He held the belt in his mouth and with shaking hands threaded the needle with the thread. He looked in the mirror and took a deep breath before clenching his jaw down and pushing the needle into his skin and over the cut and into the other side.

The grunts of agony held everyone still in their place, in horror while watching Keith sew up his cut like he had done it a thousand times before.

Hunk knew he had done a thousand times before. He and Lance were the only people that Keith knew the names of when they were younger, and Hunk caught Keith on more occasions than one sewing up a cut that wouldn’t close with clothing thread and a sewing needle instead of a medical one. Lance had only seen Keith do it once, but Hunk had seen him do it a thousand times.

Keith let small tears fall from his eyes as he stitched himself up.

Minutes passed before Keith was done. When he cut the thread and dropped the needle, he let the belt with his bite marks on it drop into the sink before he stumbled back and leaned against the bathroom wall.

“Doesn’t that hurt Keith?” Romelles hands slowly lowered from her mouth. Keith heaved air slightly as he turned his head to her.

“Sometimes,” Keith groaned, slowly lifting himself to stand from the wall. “I should get home.”

“No Keith, your mom will freak out on you.” Romelle sighed. “I’ll get you a hotel room.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Keith shakily brought his tattered shirt over his head. “I can just walk to Allura's or something or sleep in my garage.” Keith groaned as he redid the belt on his hips.

“Keith—”

“I’ll be fine.” Keith let out a shaky breath. He looked back at Romelle and Shay, and for a moment, all he saw were Veronica and Rachel.

He saw the two from a memory when he was fourteen and Rachel was sixteen while Veronica was twenty. He was in the bathroom with his lungs burning, his hair racked up and his eyes stinging with reflex tears as he puked into their toilet. He didn’t remember what he got sick from, but later concluded it to alcohol Lance snuck into his drink.

Neither said a word and helped him through it, Veronica even walking the three blocks to his house to take him home at two in the morning.

“Keith you can’t just go wondering places like this.” Hunk stood up from the stool he brought into the room. 

“You don’t have room here and I need to sleep somewhere,” Keith groaned as the new stitches pulled on his shirt. “I’ll figure it out,” Keith mumbled as he pushed past the three people in his way and out of the front door of Hunk and Shay’s apartment.

He was silent as he walked past his own home and walked to Lances. By the time he walked the three blocks to Lances the ache in his leg was slightly less bearable and the limp showed more. How he couldn’t bring himself to use the joint in his knee and tilted to the side to walk.

He knocked on the door, listening as there was a small shuffle of feet before the door creaked open. Keith gave a broken smile as Lance’s mother held her hands to her mouth before grabbing Keith’s hand and pulling him into the house.

“ ¡Jesús Keith! Pensé que habías dejado de involucrarte en esas peleas cuando eras más joven, pero claramente no aprendiste. Ve a lavarte y te prepararé el té. Oh, Dios mío, ¡realmente necesitas unirte! ¡Tienes veintiún años! ¡Veintiuno! Ve y límpiate, toma prestada la ropa de la habitación Lances.” She yelled at him.

Keith could hardly understand her, and by the time they made it to the bathroom and he saw the worried and concerned look on her face did she realize that she had just ranted to him in a language he didn’t know.

She pinched the bridge of her nose before glaring at him. “Clean yourself up and borrow clothes from Lances room. They should fit you. Come and find me when you’re done and feel free to take a shower, you smell like blood and dirt.”

“Okay,” Keith gave a small smile.

He was suddenly glad that he had such a close relationship with Lances family even if they only thought him and Lance were friends. He was glad fo those days where it was raining and Lance had work but Lance's house was closer to the school so he would huddle in the McClains living room out of the rain and do homework with the adult's company.

Lance usually scolded him when Keith was there doing homework while his mother was knitting something for her grandchildren.

Keith shakily climbing the steps of the house until he reached Lances room. He pushed the door open and was reminded with how empty it was without Lance in it.

The astrology posters were hanging on the wall with Lances navy blue bed sheets tucked into the bed as he had never slept there. The two pillows on the twin bed were stacked on top of each other, looking like foam from water among the blue. His bed was across from the door in the center of the wall, the brown bed frame matching the oak nightstand on the left and the desk on the right.

The left side of the room held a dresser against the wall next to the two thin brown doors that help his hang-up clothes. The small blue tint on the walls made them look larger than they were. On the dresser were candles and pictures along with the jewelry Lance owned but hardly ever wore. It was silver rings and chained necklaces. There was also a jar full of cash, exactly 4,000 dollars. Keith knew because he had counted it for Lance two months prior to Lance leaving.

Lance was saving up for a place for them.

They had a lot too, considering that Keith also has about 3,000 dollars now for them. They could buy a huge house together, but they both knew that they would most likely only get a three room one at the most.

Keith slowly walked to the dresser and pulled out a blue shirt and black plaid pajama pants from Lances dresser. He hadn’t been in this room for so long. He wondered if Rachel’s room looked just as pristine.

Keith walked into the bathroom and shed himself of his clothes and threw them in the trash before turning on the shower and huddling himself in the water. Keith leaned his head against the wall of the shower, letting the water skim his hair and flow down his back. The water hit the stitches on his shoulder and burned.

He knew it would scar.

There was a cut on his calf but was closing up so he wasn’t that worried. What he was worried about was the fact that he was crying.

It wasn’t loud, but the heat of the water and the cold of his tears were very different. HIs chin was quivering slightly.

He let out a shaky, quiet sob. His body was aching and screaming at him to just pass out. His mind was screaming at him to be in Lance’s arms. To be held and cradled and cared for. He clenched his fist against the tile as he shook in his spot.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

The kitchen was quiet when Keith came down. The clothes on his body were slightly big on him. He hated the fact that Lance had always been bigger than him considering they were the same height, but now he knew they wouldn’t. He hadn’t grown in two years, and knowing Lance, he would be a giant by now from fighting.

But the kitchen was quiet except for the small hum coming from Lance’s mother.

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen for a moment, watching as she poured the hot water into two cups then set in a tea bag. She was humming a song Lance had hummed to him too many times before.

“Into every life, a little rain must fall so the poets say. For and how it's raining on me now and just when I need you near me most of all you are far away. I keep calling to you in vain all alone in the rain.”

As if the song had called for it, a small rainstorm formed outside.

“Lance loved the rain,” she said, picking the two cups up and handing one to Keith as he stepped into the room. “I bet every time it rains out there he thinks of home.”

“How do you know?” Keith asked, walking behind her as she went into the living room. “That he’s alive, I mean.”

“That’s my little mijo, I know,” she gave a soft smile, sitting on the couch. He sat next to her. They sat in silence for a while, listening to rain. “How did you get so hurt?”

“Jackass white guys,” Keith grumbled. “This girl asked me to walk her home and when I did some white guys jumped me.”

“Are you okay? Need any stitches?” She lifted a brow, looking ready to jump up and take him to the hospital.

“I got it covered.” Keith nervously smiled, pulling his collar down slightly to show his shoulder and the stitches holding him together. She hissed as he hid the stitches under the shirt. “I’ve...been doing it since I was little.”

The woman shook her head, tutting as he shifted on the couch, holding his legs under his body. “You and Lance are both such brutes. Pushing through and fighting rather than getting help.”

“Lance gets help, he just doesn’t like to admit it that he needs it.” Keith softly chuckled.

He watched the mother nod and drink her tea. Her blue eyes shown under the small lamp they were next to. Her curly brown hair was cascading down her back, and Keith could see the similarities between her and her youngest son.

“Does Lance send you letters?” She turned to him. “I know he’s missing but, did he before?”

“Yeah,” Keith scratched his finger against the side of the cup. 

“Did he talk about anything I need to worry about?”

“He got shot twice and lived,” Keith looked into the liquid. “His brain isn’t doing too well.”

“Again?” She breathed. “He was doing so well. W-What could have…”

“He’s in a war zone and in a platoon where his opinion isn’t cared for.” Keith licked his cut lip. “It doesn’t help his thoughts.”

“Do you think he got shot on purpose?” She whispered.

Keith shrugged his shoulders and the two fell into a silence again. The air between them had an unspoken tension. He could tell that the woman wanted to say something, but couldn’t, or didn’t know how.

“Do…” she started. Keith turned his head from the rain outside the window to her, watching as she licked her lips in thought. “Did Lance try to kill himself around you?”

 

Keith didn’t have to think of it, because the memories pushed to the front of his eyes and played in his iris.

 

Of fifteen-year-old Lance standing on the edge of a bridge, screaming that the world was unfair and that he couldn’t take it anymore. His knuckles white and his hair a furled mess from the wind tussling it. His voice was washed away with the sound of the river below him. Two hours later Lance was in Keith's arms, crying into his chest and on the right side of the railing.

The memory of sixteen-year-old Lance that had a gun pressed to his temple, his hand shaking while his other was clenching the note in his hand. Keith didn’t hesitate in tackling Lance to the ground, throwing the gun out of his hands and emptying the bullets out of his bedroom window. Keith cradled Lance in his arms for hours afterward and until Lance's parents came home.

The memory of sixteen-year-old Lance hanging from his ceiling fan. Keith had spent twenty minutes to cut him down and trying to get Lance to breathe again. Lance didn’t speak to Keith for three days after out of shame.

The memory of Lance holding a prescription bottle when he was seventeen was when Keith decided to be a variable instead of the solution. He stood in the doorway of his own bathroom, eyes on Lance's hands as one cupped the bottles pills and the other held the bottle.

_ “Choose Lance,” _ Keith had said.  _ “Either die with me watching and I’ll call you an ambulance or put the pills back and come and tell me what’s wrong.” _

The decision took five excruciatingly long minutes that felt like days. Lances hand shook as he slid the pills back into the bottle and stood up from the side of the tub he was sitting on. He handed the bottle to Keith who took Lance's hand with his other and leads him back into Keith’s room and  _ finally _ opened up.

After the fourth incident, Lance never tried to die again and Keith found Lance a counselor that he went to once every month.

 

“Keith?” He looked over at the worried look on her face. “Had Lance done that around you? Shown how sad he gets?”

“Yeah, he has,” Keith scratched the back of his neck. “F-Four times actually.”

“Four?” She breathed out. “He actually—Oh my poor boy,” she heaved out and Keith saw the tears bubble in her eyes. “I thought he was just upset all the time and would grow past it but taking his own life—my poor mijo.”

Keith was silent as he watched the woman try to keep her sobs to herself.

Time seemed to escape him as she demanded he let his body heal in her home until the storm let up, or morning, whichever came first. He could tell she wanted the ladder. 

He didn’t know when he got back to Lances room, but he was there. His hands were clasped around the mug, standing at the foot of the bed as the moonlight leaking in made the blue fabric look like waves.

“Goodnight Keith.” He turned and watched her walk away and all Keith could ask for was not to be left alone in this room, but he didn’t voice it.

His eyes were glued on the bed. He slowly walked around it, one hand letting go of the mug to run his fingertips over the still waves of the fabric. Lance may have been lazy in school, but he was a perfectionist in his room. If anything, Keith was the messy one in their relationship from the number of times he had gone to events with motor oil still in his hair.

Everything in Lances room was in perfect places so Lance could always know where everything was. Socks on the second drawer, underwear on the third, pants on the top and pajamas on the lowest drawer.

Warm colors on the right side of the closet and cooler colors on the left. Family pictures on the right side of the dresser and friend pictures on the left with Keith’s pictures always centered in the middle. Seashells on the left corner of his desk and every poster was hung with extreme precision to be absolutely straight.

Keith wondered if Lance knew he did this.

Keith set the mug down on the nightstand and picked up one of Lances pillows, holding it to his chest and pressing his nose into the white fabric.

It had been two years, but it still smelled like Lances kiwi shampoo.

Keith slowly lifted the blankets and put the pillow down, resting himself down into the bed. He stayed there for a moment. With his head on one pillow and the other resting on his chest, his body left exposed without the blanket covering him while the rest of him was pressed into the mattress.

“I miss you,” Keith whispered, his voice shaking as he refused to let any tears come from his eyes. “I miss you so much, Sharpshooter.” His voice cracked as he pulled the blankets up on his body and he turned to his side. “I love you, Lance. Please come back to me.” Keith mumbled into the pillow before he closed his eyes, squinting away the tears as he clutched a pillow to his chest.

At least for a night, he wanted to imagine Lance in his arms again.


	11. war-torn hearts with warrior heads

Lance, in all his twenty-one years of living, never imagined a day without Keith by his side. When he imagined going to war, he imagined having to watch Keith’s back. When he imagined his future, he imagined Keith lying in bed beside him, and in a perfect world, a daughter they would adopt together. When he imagined his present, he saw him and Keith dancing in the Balmera or babysitting his niece and nephew together. Whatever he imagined, Keith was always by his side.

That’s why Lance hated reality because most of the time it wasn’t what he imagined.

When he imagined war he imagined having to stitch Keith up and training him on how to use a gun. He imagined the secret sneaking around to get small kisses and working well as a team to get a mission done. He imagined one staying behind from the platoon if the other got hurt just to make sure that they were both okay.

He hated that it wasn’t like that.

Instead, he was in a cold hut in the middle of the woods with a man he hardly knew and was going to get killed if he didn’t deliver the information that he needed to. Lance was also sure that the cuts on his calves were getting infected.

Lance shivered as he pressed his hand to his ribs, his mind trying to memorize names to faces, but they were becoming blurry.

Was Veronica's hair curly? No, that wasn’t right.

Was Marco the tall one or the heavier set guy?

Was Rachel or Lisa the dead girl in his life?

His Mom had short hair right? And his dad...his dad's name…

What was his father’s name?

Lance looked at his tattoo, his thumb running over the names, going down his ribcage. His skeleton-like fingers shakingly went to his jacket pocket and pulled out the picture he had brought with him.

He ran his thumb over the tattoo on the photo, a soft smile on his lips. Lance knew he was lucky. He had this beauty waiting for him when he got back.

Hopefully.

The date on the photo was two years ago, and damn Lance if he didn't know what day it was. Half of him wanted to say it was spring, while another part wanted him to say it was fall. He also was torn between it being 1945 and 1943.

He just knew he had been in there since Christmas 1942. That’s all he knew, so he hoped it had only been a few months and not a few years.

He wanted to come home to someone who was as beautiful as that. 

“Lance?” He looked up at Coran as he stood at the door, his eyes out of the little eye slot. “They’ve all left to go get supplies. If we hurry we can grab your comrades dog tags and make a run for your base.”

“I don’t know where my base is, Coran,” Lance sighed, his eyes on the photo.

“There must be a pattern to how you move,” Coran turned his head to Lance slightly. “You can’t just be moving around willy-nilly.”

“I-I don’t know. My sister—Veronica, she would tell me we were moving spots and I would just follow. I-I think we always moved like ten miles West every three months and then every once in a while we moved North.”

Coran nodded and started to mumble to himself, stepped back from the door and closer into the darkness.

Lance closed his eyes and imagined dancing with the person in the photo. 

He didn’t remember a name, most likely because he couldn’t remember a face to a name. No face and no name came to mind. He knew he had more pictures at his base, but he didn’t know where it was so he could remember.

“Coran?” Lance mumbled after a few minutes. “What month is it?”

“Based on the weathers heat, I would say we’re just entering autumn.”

“So I’ve been in here a year?”

“Just about,” Coran moved back to the door as Lance shakily stood up and placed the photo back into his breast pocket. “Why do you ask?”

“I knew I would forget everyone I loved in a year,” Lance mumbled as he pushed Coran out of the way of the door and looked through the eye slot. No one was outside the door. “Gimme a second.” Lance scratched the beard growing on his chin before backing up from the door slightly. He squared his shoulder before ramming into the door.

His shoulder ached, but he repeated the motion until the door flew open.

Lance stepped out and rotated his shoulder. “I’ll go grab the dog tags. You should go into their supplies to see if they have any compasses and food we can use.” Lance nodded and walked to the small supplies shed.

He went through everything, and could only amount to finding a compass, a shitty first-aid kit, fire starters, a signaling book, a hunting knife, three flasks of water and twenty small bars for food.

Lance slid the compass around his neck on a thin string and packed the rest of the supplies in a small bag. He walked out of the shed as Coran ran to him with the dog tags in his hand.

Neither man was wearing handcuffs anymore, mostly because they broke from rusting.

Lance attached the knife to his hip and looked up at Coran. “So if every three months you move ten miles West we can assume that you’ve been heading towards the major camps to free people.”

“Maybe. I-I don’t know.” Lance mumbled. “We should get to a town first. We need to gather our bearings and get more supplies before we go into a forest.”

“There’s a trading town about fifteen miles West from here. They go there to get supplies so if we hurry we’ll be right behind them and they won’t see us.”

Lance nodded and pointed the two in that direction before they made their way through the darkness of the woods.

They walked in silence for two miles before Coran spoke. “Son, have you forgotten your friends and family?”

Lance was quiet for a moment. “A little. I-It’s just small things like eye color a-and hair length. S-Somethings I can’t remember the entire face or name.”

“Who’s face can’t you remember?”

“The person from the photo I have.” Lance patted his chest slightly. Good. He still had it.

“I’m so sorry son.”

“I hope that when I get to camp that my other photos will be there. I…I really don’t want to forget them.”

They traveled in silence for a moment before Coran spoke. “His name is Keith,” Lance looked at him. “The man in the photo is Keith, your boyfriend.”

To Lance, that felt more right then he had felt in the last year.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Veronica bit her lip as she and Marco walked around the small patches of tents, photos, and letters in both of their hands. She stopped in her place, her hands starting to shake as she looked up at her brother. “H-How could we not have known about this? We’ve been around them all their lives and…” She pushed a hand to her lips. “Lance is gone. Keith probably blames himself and only  _ now _ are we finding out about their letters?”

“Veronica—”

“Lance is a prisoner of war  _ and _ gay. He’s my little brother, I-I should have—”

“Veronica!” Marco shouted. She looked at him through her tears. “This is Lance we’re talking about. He couldn’t have kept something like this a secret for long so someone else on this base has to know. Maybe someone in his platoon. We should ask around.”

Veronica slowly nodded and took the photos and letters and put them into the bag at her hip. The two walked into the middle of the base before walking to the platoons tent.

Kinkade was sitting on his cot cleaning out his gun silently while Griffin was writing a letter. Acxa and Lotor were whispering to themselves in a corner, and all Marco could think was how toxic this platoon looks from the outside. Kinkade looked up at them and hummed, standing up and walking to the two before motioning outside the tent. 

He crossed his arms as they stood outside.

“Has your platoon always looked like this?” Marco breathed. “So...quiet?”

“Zethrid and Ezor strove to have everyone included in Lotors planning, even if Lance and I were always silenced.” Kinkade stood up straighter. “Found any new recruits till filling our missing three spots?”   


“Not yet,” Veronica said before digging through her bag. “Where’s Rolo?”

“Getting supplies with Nyma in a trading city about twenty miles East of here. Just some parts for his leg.” Kinkade answered. “Need anything else?”

The two nodded. “Do you know about this?” She pulled out the photo of Lance and Keith kissing, holding it up to the boy's eyes.

Kinkade’s mouth gaped slightly, grabbing the photo from her before growling. “How did you find Lances letters?”

“They were in his belongings—you knew?” Marco lifted a brow.

“We...We have a shared secret but I swore to Lance that these wouldn’t reach his family.” Kinkade glared at the two. “How many did you read?”

“All of them.” Veronica crossed her arms. “Why doesn’t Lance want us knowing he’s gay? It’s new but he’s still my little brother.”

“He’s not completely gay. He’s bisexual—fuck I shouldn’t even be explaining this to you,” Kinkade pinched the bridge of his nose before taking a breath and glaring at them. “Those letters are his and his alone. Give me every photo and letter you have.”

“I will not,” Veronica bellowed. “Why didn’t Lance want us to know?”

“That’s not—”

“I’m asking as a superior Officer, Kinkade. Answer the question.” Veronica furrowed her brows. Kinkade did the same before looking down at the photo.

“Look, I don’t know the answer to that. Lance didn’t tell me why he just told me he didn’t want anyone in his family knowing,” He looked up at the two. “But he did tell someone else on camp.”

“Who?”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Shiro's life had never gone how he expected it to.

When he was a kid he thought he would be an astronaut, but when that seemed unrealistic for a Japanese kid in America, he settled on becoming a school teacher.

When he was a teenager he had big dreams. He imagined a big house in a small neighborhood with a wife and three kids who would grow up without the whites and colored segregation. He imagined getting millions of dollars a year, but when he met Adam and graduated high school and started college, his plans changed. Instead, he thought of waking up next to Adam in an average home with an average neighborhood with an average income.

When he was a young adult, he imagined a life where he and Adam would live in peace to help Keith become surer of himself. Instead what he got was a deportation to a land he had never been to and Keith shouting as he was dragged out of his home by his arms.

When he was an adult, he imagined teaching uneducated kids with Adam, but instead, he got his arm taken from him and thrust into a war he didn’t want to fight.

That’s why he was glad he was captured. He was led back to his old life even if it meant that it wasn’t exactly the same. He still had Lance to bring him photos of Keith, and small kisses he shared with Adam.

But that was all months ago. Lance, he knew was missing and so was Adam, but he heard around that Adam was shot. Shiro concluded Adam was dead, and refused to bring his hopes up to have him be alive.

“Captain Shirogane,” he looked up at the opening of his tent at Veronica and Marco. Shiro nodded at them, staying on the ground as his gaze fell back down on the photo in his lap. “Captain Shirogane.” Veronica said again, anger raising his her throat.

“Yes?” Shiro sighed. “What on Earth do you need? You’ve already got a majority of the information I’m willing to tell and if you go back to torture, I’d rather die.”

“It’s not information that the base would deem useful,” Marco grabbed Veronica's bag and walked into the tent. He sat down across from Shiro and emptied the bag out of photos and letters. Shiros eyes widened at each and every one. “Is Lance...We were told that Lance told you a lot about himself and—and Lance told us nothing so please just...we need closure.”

“Lance is alive,” Shiro grabbed Marcos shoulder as the boy suppressed his tears. “Have faith and Lance will come back. He wouldn’t go into a war zone unless he knew he was coming back.” Marco nodded, taking in a deep breath as Veronica sat next to him. Shiro removed his hand and picked up the letters and photos, skimming through them as he was flooded with what Lance told him about them. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“Why did Lance keep this part of himself from us?” Veronica breathed. “We’re his family, we would love him no matter what.”

“It was to keep the reputation your family had built,” Shiro gazes a sad smile. “He didn’t want people to think less of your mother and father for having a bisexual son and he didn’t want his family to be shamed for it either. Do I have to remind you that even if you’re open minded a large majority of the world isn’t?”

“R-Right.”

“He also knows that your father wouldn’t be as supportive,” Shiro flipped through the photos, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “That’s why he wouldn’t tell. He said if he was going to tell his family he wanted each and every one of them to be supportive.”

“A-Alright,” Veronica stammered. “Do you know if Rachel knew?”

“She did. He told her hours before she went. He said she was proud he admitted that part of himself to her.” Shiro ran his thumb over the edge of the stack of photos before looking up at the two. “Anything else?”

“Do you know anything about these photos?” Marco asked.

“I know a lot more than I should,” Shiro chuckled. “Every photo has a story and every story is how Lance is so utterly in love.”

“With Keith, right?” Veronica held her breath after she asked. Shiro gave a small nod. “How did we not know?”

“The two were secretive. From what Lance told me, they didn’t tell anyone until a year after they started dating and even then they refused to show they loved each other around others until months after.” Shiro sighed as he placed the photos in a line in front of the two, spanning the photos from their furthest age to the most recent. “Let's get started, shall we?”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

_ “Hey Lance,” Keith looked up at Lance, as the boy continued to play with his hair. Lance hummed in response. They were lying in Lance's bed, Keith’s head on Lance's chest with their legs tangled together. “When we’re older, do you want to move in together?" _

_ “Like, Share-a-room move in together or share-a-house move in together?” Lance asked, opening his eyes to look at the boy on his chest. _

_ “Like...Like, share a room.” Keith bit his lip before letting out a fast exhale. “Forget it. It’s stupid and I don’t know why I thought of _ —”

_ “Okay.” _

_ “What?” Keith looked up at Lance only to have Lance gazing back down at him. _

_ “Okay. Let's move in together when we have more money of course.” _

_ Keith blushed and dug his head into Lance's chest. “Okay.” _

 

Keith woke with tears staining his cheeks and bleaching the smell of the pillow in his arms. His body was aching from the beating he got before and his mind was screaming at him to get a drug in him so he could hurt less.   
But his heart continued to play that memory for him. The memory of them when they were fifteen and just starting to test the waters of their relationship and Keith had asked that out of fear of losing Lance. It’s why they had so much money for a house together, to begin with, they’d been saving for years.

Keith licked his lips, letting out a shaky breath before sitting up in the bed and rubbing his eyes.

“Keith,” he looked in the doorway at the man looking at him. “Why are you in my home?”

“Some guys jumped me last night and I didn’t want my mother seeing me like that,” Keith mumbled as the man’s eyes bore into him. It’s why he wasn’t very keen on Lance’s father. He may have cared, but he showed it in a way where it felt like a battle for his attention. “I can go if you’d like. It was only for a night anyway.”

The man hummed and walked away, and all Keith could think about now was how Lance would react if it was him in place of his mother last night.

Lance would have insisted on cleaning Keith so he wouldn’t get more hurt and would have held Keith so incredibly close to his chest that Keith would feel suffocated. Lance would have scolded him for getting beat up and then assured him that getting hurt like that made him no less of a man.

But then again if Lance was here Keith wouldn’t have even been at the diner to get away from pitiful looks.

Keith slowly got out of Lance's bed and remade it to its former glory. He ran his hand down the side of the bed and sighed as his eyes traced every detail of the room before he walked out of it, closing the door slightly behind himself.


	12. my baby shot me down

Lance was beyond tired. Walking fifteen miles shouldn’t have been that hard, but then again he had an infected leg holding him back. So when he made it to the trading post he was beyond happy because it meant that the three days of travel meant something.

His mind was somewhere else because as Coran was telling him to get off his leg by trying to sit down somewhere Lance refused and stumbled to the nearest place he could, grabbing a piece of paper and pen and writing down such a simple message.    
  
His leg was throbbing in pain, but Lance ignored it to stuff the letter in an envelope and write down the address he memorized to heart. He turned to Coran and his shakings hands pushed it into his palm. “Get this to him.” Lance looked Coran so deep in the eyes the man thought Lance was reading his mind. “Please. I-I can’t go anymore—just get this to him.” Lance lost his balance, his legs trembling under him as the pain in his right leg shot through his body and sent him to the ground in agony.

Corans eyes widened. He pushed himself to help Lance stand, slinging his arm over his shoulders and pushing through the people around them. “Please! Someone! S-Someone please help! He’s injured and needs medical attention!” Coran shouted and all he could think of was to not let this boy who had so much life left ahead of him die.

A blonde woman with a white-haired man came running to them and froze for a moment. “Lance?” The man questioned.

Lance slowly brought his head up, stitching his brows together. “Rolo?” A cold sweat broke on Lance’s body as he started to shake, his skin slowly paling.

“Fuck—Lance stays with me. What happened?”

“L-Leg…” Lance murmured before his head dropped and started to cough loudly.

Rolo cursed under his breath, hooking Lance's arm over his shoulders before helping Coran pick him up. “We need to get him to our base.”

“Lead the way.” Coran nodded at Rolo who nodded back. Nyma pushed people out the way, allowing the two to carry Lance to the truck sitting on the edge of the square. Rolo helped Lance lie down in the back while Coran and Nyma drove off towards the base.

Rolo pressed a towel to Lance’s forehead to soak in the sweat. “Jesus Lance what did they do to you?”

“I-It doesn’t—Keith. W-Where’s Keith?” Rolo watched as Lances right glossed over. Since the injury that invoked the scar, whenever Lance grew to panicked he lost vision in that eye temporarily. “I-I need to see Keith.”

“Keith? Keith is back home—”

“A-At the base I have photos of him. U-Under my cot below the foot. I-Its a metal box it couldn’t—” Lance was hysterical, and all Rolo could focus on was how Lance was sweating more and gripping at his pants leg. Rolo ignored Lances rambled and tore open Lances pant leg, hissing at the sight of the pussing cuts and infected calf. “R-R-Rolo, will I lose my leg?” Lance stammered.

“Lance—”

“Rolo it hurts like a bitch and I want to know  _ now _ if I’m going home with a part of me missing.” Lance gripped the back of Rolo's uniform, pulling him into eyesight. Lance’s face hardened like he was going to get shot and needed to be a wall to stop it. “Am I going to lose my leg?”

“I hope not but Nyma needs to look at it before I can say anything—”

“Rolo just answer the damn question!” Lance shouted.

“How many miles did you walk?”

“Fifteen.”

“How many days?”

“Three.”

“Did you treat it?”

“No.” Lance glared into Rolos eyes before softening as the saddened look on his face. He let go of Rolo, banging his head on the bottom of the truck. “I knew it,” Lance breathed out, his hysteria becoming the worst of him. “I fucking knew it.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

A chill went down Keith’s spine. He shivered at the feeling as he nuzzled his face further into his pillow. He curled his arms underneath his pillow and shivered as another chill went down his spine.

“Keith?” He groaned into his pillow in response. “Keith you can’t just hide away.”

“Yes, I can.” Keith groaned, turning his head to Allura as she held a box in her arms. He lifted a brow as she walked into the room. “What’s in the box?”

“I’ll only let you see if you get up and in your living room.” Allura grinned and walked out of the room. He listened to Allura go downstairs before he heard laughter.

Why was his house the meeting spot?

Keith groaned, sitting up in his bed before walking to his door. He looked at his desk for a moment before grabbing his letters to Lance. He didn’t know why he was grabbing them, but a part of him told him to get them out.

He walked downstairs and past his living room and outside. He hesitantly placed all of the letters—20 of them—into his mailbox and sighed, closing the mailbox and walking back into his house. He sat down on his floor next to Pidge as Allura held the box in front of her. Keith looked around his living room at the people around him.

Hunk and Shay were cuddling on his couch.

Romelle, Ina, and Nadia sat on the floor next to each other while they passed around a letter Kinkade sent Ina.

Pidge and Allura were on Keiths right and they were all huddled in a circle.

“Is there a reason you wanted us to be here? We have to open the diner in an hour and I still have to prepare some things.” Hunk asked, curling his arm around Shay more.

Allura nodded excitedly. “While moving my father’s belongings out of his home to mine I found these living in his backyard,” she tilted the box slightly and kittens of multiple colors came tumbling out of the box. They all meow loudly, eyes opened wide in fear as they all curled around the large black cat in the middle of them. “They’re all somewhat young, and the black one has claimed them all as hers.”

Keith eyed the kittens.

There was an orange-furred one that looked redder than orange with large blue eyes.

There was a white kitten with large green eyes with its back left foot and front right foot tinted gray.

There was a long furred cream one that had beautiful yellow stripes in its fur with large black eyes.

There was a completely white kitten with large black eyes with the pinkest ears and nose he’s ever seen.

Keith looked at his lap at the feeling of something nudging his leg. A small navy colored black cat was rubbing its head against his calf, and all Keith could think of was Lance. The kitten looked up at him and big blue eyes stared straight back at him.

Keith was never a cat person, it’s why he had Kosmo who, at the moment, was being kept in the kitchen behind a baby gate.

But right now, he was a cat person like Lance was.

“They’re all around ten weeks so they’ll be fine to leave the mother, although, I think she’s rather fond of the red and black kittens.” Allura grinned. “I was thinking we could all have one if you’d like.”

Pidge nodded and eagerly pointed at the green-eyed kitten. “I want that one! I’ll name him Rover.”

“That’s a dogs name.” Romelle laughed.

“And they’re all female,” Allura laughed as well. Pidge rolled her eyes and picked up the kitten who just as eagerly pressed her head into Pidge’s chest and nuzzled closely to her.

Hunk and Shay chose the long-haired kitten while Ina and Nadia both refused, saying that their apartments had a no pet policy. Allura and Romelle both chose the white one, but they were lucky they lived together.

“You should get one for Lance,” Krolia said as she stepped into the room. “I’m sure he’d be glad you got one for him when he returns.” She placed a hand on Keith's shoulder as the boy sighed. 

The black cat and the red one walked side by side as the navy one bounced up and down on Keith's legs. They stopped at his feet before happily joining the navy one in curling onto Keith’s lap.

“It looks like Keith is the majority favorite.” Romelle laughed and Keith rolled his eyes.

“Ya know for that I’m naming them Black, Red, and Blue.”

“Do you really want to take care of three cats?” Allura asked as the white one paced between her and Romelle for pets.

“If Black likes Red and Blue I don’t see why I have to separate them,” Keith shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, I’m sure they’ll get along with Kosmo.”

“You should write Lance a letter of them, so he knows,” Pidge gives a small smile.

“Yeah,” Keith gazed down at the cats on his lap. “Yeah, okay. Hunk, can you take a photo?”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance was staring up at the top of the tent he hadn’t left since the surgery. He had been lying on his back for two weeks straight, and all he could think of doing was avoiding the look of his right leg.

He should have felt something. He should have felt the pain of the amputation he was awake for. He should have felt the loss of balance when he stood up to use the restroom. He should have felt the loss of weight in his body. But he didn’t feel anything. He just felt numb.

“Lance?”

“What,” he spat out.

“No need to be so hostile,” Matt mumbled as Lance sat up slightly, avoiding the dip of where his right leg would have been. Lance glared at Shiro and Matt as Matt held a wooden leg in his arms while Shiro held up envelopes.

“We just got a shipment of mail and I thought we could go through your letters while Matt tries out his new leg model for you.” Lance groaned and fell back onto his cot, throwing his hand over his eyes. 

“I thought my mail stopped coming in when I was taken?” Lance looked through his fingers as Shiro sat on the cot next to him while Matt sat at the foot of Lances, shuffling the blankets to get a view of the nothingness where his leg once was. 

“It did, but Keith just sent in a shit ton of letters,” Shiro helped Lance sit up and handed him the letters, who Lance quickly took.

“Are they in order?” Lance asked as he started to open the one at the top of the pile.

“They came like that so I have no idea,” Shiro shrugged his shoulders. Lance paused for a moment before setting the envelopes down and biting his lip. “You okay?”

Lance turned his head to Shiro. “Is Coran still here or did you escort him back to his unit?”

“He’s staying with us until we get enough information. He was in the camp longer than you and has heard more than you,” Matt said, adjusting the straps on Lance's thigh. “Why do you ask?”

“I told him about Keith,” Lance mumbled. Matt stopped, looking up at Lance.

“Isn’t he a priest?” Lance nodded. “And he didn’t call you a filthy, filthy sinner?”

“No, he didn’t. He even said that he could bless me and Keith wedding.” Lance stuck his tongue out.

“Are you going to ask Keith to marry you?” Shiro asked. Lance blushed at what he just blurted out before slowly nodding. “How?”

“We’re just going to have a small party at home. I-It’s not gonna be this huge ceremony or anything like how I wanted when I was little,” Lance scratched the back of his neck before looking over at Shiro. “But if I could get you there I guarantee Keith would lose his shit and pretend like I wasn’t the love of his life.”

Shiro chuckled and shook his head. “Do you want me to go get Coran so he can read these with us?” Lance nodded his head. “Okay. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” Lance watched silently as Shiro stood up and walked out of the tent. Lance looked back down to the stack of letters in his lap.

He bit his lip before opening every letter and looking through the dates, setting them up in their chronological order while Matt worked on setting up his new leg.

“Ya know Lance,” Matt spoke, sending the Cuban boy to look up at Shiro walked in with Coran. “As soon as you can wobble on this thing you’ll be sent home.”

“What? No, I can’t,” Lance furrowed his brows in anger. Matt looked up at Lance in surprise. “There’s still a war to fight and as long as I can stand I will fight it!”

“Lance, you can barely stand as it is,” Matt silently hiss with a sad sigh. “You’ve been bed ridden since you got back here.”

“I can still fight!” Lance growled. He was too preoccupied with Matt to notice Marco or Veronica walk in. “As long as I can stand I will fight—”

“Then stand up!” Shiro barked. Lance twisted his head to Shiro. “Stand up and we’ll keep you here to fight but if you fall over you’re going home.”

“Fine!” Lance shouted. He ripped the blanket off his body, and for the first time in two weeks, he saw the nub of half of his thigh. He ignored the whimper that came from his throat at the sight as he swung his legs and the prosthetic over the side of his bed. He placed both feet on the floor and shakily stood up, his hands slowly letting go of the edge of the cot.

His body ached as he stood up. It begged him to lie back down but he pushed through it. He straightened his body up, huffing as he stood up. His right thigh ached as he started to wobble, but he refused to fall over.

“See!” Lance shouted. “I can stand—”

“Walk to the tent wall and back.” Shiro crossed his arms as Lance looked over his shoulder at him. “If you can walk there and back then you can stay but Lance, you do need to weigh your options.”

“Shut up Shiro. I can do this.” Lance gritted his teeth as he swung his left leg forward to start moving, then moved his right leg. He stepped forward again and when he put the weight on his right leg again, he found himself stumbling forward. Lance grunted as his hands caught the ground, and all Lance could do was stare at the grass balling into his hands. 

“Lance—”

“Shut up!” Lance shouted. “I can do this! I-I’m not used to—”

“Lance!” Shiro shouted over Lance. Lance glared back at Shiro as tears welled up in his eyes. Shiro stood up from the cot he was sitting on and walked to Lance, helping him to his feet. “You took a step and you haven’t stood up without help since you got the amputation. It’s a lot more improvement than most soldiers have when they lose limbs.”

“I can do this Shiro I just need to practice and—”

“Lance,” he looked to Veronica. He had never heard her voice speak so softly. “You’re done here. You can’t fight without a leg.”

“I can coordinate. Ronnie, please. There’s still a fight to be won and I can help—”

“Lance you’ve been shot twice and you’ve been a prisoner of war, it’s time for you to go home. Mom’s already lost one kid, we can’t have her losing two.” Marco gave a sad smile.

Lance furrowed his brows, pushing off Shiro and losing his balance as he stumbled backwards. Before anyone could catch him he caught to his feet, stopping himself from wobbling. “I can do this! I want to stay! I can fight, I can teach new people how to use a goddamn gun! I can still—”

“Lance, you need to go home.” Veronica walked to Lance but before she could put her hand on his shoulder be violently stepped back from her.

“No! I can still—”

“Lance,” the softness in Corans voice was overwhelming. Lance turned to him, watching as Coran moved slowly from the cots to where Lance was struggling to keep his body upright on his own. “You’ve most likely done wonders for your platoon and for this fight, but you need to think of a bigger picture. If you were to stay, you would slow your platoon down.”

"But—”

“Let me finish,” Coran held up his hand. Lance furrowed his brows, but stayed quiet. “If you were to stay you would slow your platoon down and would slow down the movement and traffic of the people around you. You’re base doesn’t have the proper resources to take care of ten amputees at once. You need to think of a bigger picture then of the smaller sections of fighting where you could be used.”

“It’s not fair that Rolo got to stay for years while I’m being sent home automatically.” Lance huffed.

“Rolo is a skilled fighter whose leg was also naturally deteriorating. He was used to not having mobility in it but we needed him as a skilled fighter,” Marco crossed his arms. “Your leg was healthy until you got captured—”

“I’m standing aren’t I?!” Lance shouted. “I’m standing, I’m moving, thus I’m staying!” Lance growled. “I’m staying until this war is over, and none of you are stopping me.’

“Lance—”

“What!” Lance barked loudly, turning his head to Coran.

Lance knew Coran didn’t deserve it. His eyes spoke the worry his voice couldn’t. He watched Coran dart his eyes on the ground in thought before giving Lance a soft smile. “Why don’t we look through those letters of yours?”

Lance visibly calmed down. He nodded his head and took a step forward and wobbled. Coran took Lances arm into his hands, guiding him to the bed and Lance sighed as he looked at his feet when he sat down. His left leg was his, complete with his slightly darker kneecap and all five toes, but his right bothered him. The oak wood and color that didn’t match his body, with the rounded toes instead of individual toes. He looked at the strap on his thigh that dug into his skin.

“You okay son?” Coran asked as he handed Lance the letters.

“I hate it,” Lance mumbled. No one spoke as Lance unbuckled the cream strap holding his leg to his body. He grabbed the leg and shimmed it off of his body. He held it no his lap before his face twisted in disgust and he pushed it over to Matt. “I hate it.”

“I-It works properly—”

“It’s not  _ me _ ,” Lance growled. “It’s not me and I don’t want to wear the damn thing until it feels like me.”

Before Matt could complain Veronica put a hand on his shoulder. Matt bit his lip before following Marco and Veronica out of the tent. Lance sighed, lowering his head into his hands, rubbing his hands up and down his face before pressing his fingers into his eyes for a moment. He let out a loud sigh before feeling a hand on his back.

“Lance, you need to consider what you want more, Keith or a fight,” Shiro spoke softly.

“I-I want Keith but I need to finish this fight so it doesn’t reach him,” Lance sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t want him to be here.”

“You need to consider what you really want Lance. Not what Keith wants, not what your siblings want, what do you want?” Coran asked, holding a hand up at Shiro to silence him.

Lance held himself, shaking slightly before breathing out his answer. “I want to finish this fight.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance had this specific memory of him and Keith he kept in his head at all times. It seemed so stupid, but it was so special to him that he couldn’t rid it from his thoughts. He loved it, even if the situation would make his stomach twist at the time, now it just made him smile like an idiot. It was one of the few memories that kept him going, one of the few memories he would never share because it was his to love.

 

_ “Hey Keith,” Lance nervously chuckled. _

_ “Hey baby~,” Keith drunkenly slurred, throwing his arms around Lance's shoulders before pushing him back into Keith’s room. They landed on Keith's bed with a soft thud. _

_ Lance bushed brightly as Keith straddled his waist. “K-Keith, babe, sweetheart, w-what’re you doing?” _

_ Keith leaned down to Lance, pressing his lips to Lances in a drunken mess. Lance tasted the bitterness on Keith's tongue. He felt Keith strip of his jacket and his shirt before pressing Lance further into the bed. Lance watched Keith lick his lips greedily. “I want _ — _ want you t-to fuck me,” Keith slid his fingers under the hem of Lances shirt, running his hands up Lances chest to ride the shirt up at Lances collarbones. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can _ — _ can’t walk.” Keith hiccupped, a drunken blush appearing on his cheeks. _

_ To Lance’s virgin body, this was an opportunity his body told him to jump at, but his mind knew better than to take advantage of his drunk sixteen-year-old boyfriend. _

_ “Keith your drunk,” Lance pushed the boy off of his waist and gently lied Keith down next to him. He left a soft kiss on Keith's forehead before standing from the bed. He felt a tug on his sleeve and he looked back at Keith.  _

_ “Baby c’mon,” Keith whined, pulling Lance back down to the bed. Lance lied on his side, looking at Keith as the raven-haired boy played with Lance's fingers.  _

_ “Keith you’re drunk.” _

_ “So?” Keith snickered. _

_ “I’m not taking advantage of you,” Lance retorted. Keith hummed, nuzzling his head into Lance's chest with a small whine. Lance chuckled. “Besides, I don’t want both of our first times being when your drunk.” _

_ “Mmmm you’re a go—good boyfriend,” Keith mumbled into Lances chest. Lance chuckled. “Lance,” Keith spoke softly, like he was testing the sound of the name in his mouth. “Lance?” Keith asked, more assured. _

_ “Yeah, babe?” Lance asked, running his hands through Keith's hair. _

_ “Don’t fuck me until we’re in our twenties.” _

_ Lance burst out laughing, but the whine that came from Keith made Lance realize he meant it. Lance sighed, calming down slightly. “I’ll keep you to it.” _

_ “Mmmmm tired,” Keith whined. _

_ “Go to sleep Samurai, we have a test tomorrow.” _

_ “Imma fucking fail it~” Keith sang before sleep collected him. _

 

Lance always smiled when he thought of Keith like that. In his drunken whiney mess. He never did find out how Keith got drunk that night but concluded it to the missing bottle of rum in Krolias liquor cabinet. He also knew Keith remembered their conversation because whenever he said he couldn’t wait until they were twenty, Keith would hit him with the closest item to him.

Lance sighed as he stared down at the still unpleasing prosthetic attached to his being. He looked up at Rolo as the man held his hands out to Lance. “Let's go. I promised your sister I’d get you walking on that thing properly by the end of the week, and if you can do it sooner she’ll consider letting you stay.”

Lance groaned and took Rolos hands and wobbled to his feet. “I still don’t like the thing.”

“You can always customize it later,” Rolo held Lance's hands at an arm’s length distance, and Lance sighed as he looked down at his feet. He didn’t look like himself without his other leg. “Walk until you’ve reached me.”

“What?” Lance looked up at Rolo.

“I’ve got your hands but you gotta do the walkin’,” Rolo chuckled. Lance sighed and shakily took a step forward, then another. It took three steps until he reached Rolo who gave him a small grin.

“This is stupid. Give me a challenge.” Lance growled lowly.

“You’re a newbie to the prosthetic leg deal, Lance. You need to learn slowly—”

“Screw slowly, give me a challenge.” Lance narrowed his eyes and Rolo sighed.

“Fine,” Rolo let go of Lance's hands and walked to the edge of the tent. Lance struggled to stay up but refused to go down. “Walk to me. If you fall I’ll catch you but you gotta walk to me.”

Lance nodded with a happy huff before taking a step forward. He wobbled slightly before taking another, then another. It took six steps to reach Rolo, but it also took twenty minutes of Lance making sure his balance was perfect before he took another step. “There,” Lance smiled. “I did it.”

“You did, but you took a while,” Lance's smile fell into a frown, the approval in his eyes gone. “Don’t worry about it Sharpshooter,” Rolo chuckled, placing a hand on Lance's shoulder. “You remember how slow I was in the beginning. It’ll just take time.”

“Right,” Lance breathed sadly. Rolo gave a sad grin before taking Lances hands and turning him around. Rolo lowly walked backward and Lance followed. “What’re you doing?”

“Walking with you,” Rolo chuckled. “You sure you didn’t lose your vision too?”

“Ha ha,” Lance mocked laughter, which only made Rolo laugh more.

They continued the laps of Lance holding onto Rolos hands to walk forward for a while. Before Lance could register his entire platoon was watching Lance try to walk. With the eyes Lance pushed himself to walk faster, to be faster, but it only resulted in him tripping over the prosthetic and falling into Rolo.

“Lance I’m setting a pace for today,” Rolo sighed as he helped Lance to his cot. “It’s so you get used to the leg.”

“I want to walk faster.”

“What you want isn’t what you need,” Rolo crossed his arms. “You need to start slow and work up to fast walking, then jogging, then running, then sprinting. It’ll all take time. Hell I wasn’t even put into the fight months after gettin’ this thing because I couldn’t even jog in place without falling over.” Lance looked down at his feet, glaring at his right foot. “You’re not gonna learn how to walk in this thing overnight.”

“I-I know,” Lance sighed.

The tent fell quiet before the sound of bullets punctured it. Lance looked up quickly, watching as his platoon grabbed their guns and ran out of the tent and to the people attacking them. “Stay here Lance!” Kinkade shouted.

But in a Lance fashion, he refused.


	13. blood smears on love notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait for an update. I'm trying to figure out how to move this story along.

Lance grabbed the Winchester sniper rifle under his bed and stood up. He slowly walked to the edge of the tent as he loaded in bullets. Lance wobbled into the playing field, ignoring the burn of his wounds as bullets flew past him in an aim of him, but he ignored it and forced himself into the fight. He knew he couldn’t get somewhere high, but with his aim, he didn’t need to, he just needed to be hidden, but in this setting, he couldn’t hide.

Lance turned around at the sound of bullets pushing through barrels. He ducked out of the bullets aim before quickly shooting the two enemies behind him. He watched as the bullets he shot went through their chests, exploding the small hole in blood before they fell over onto each other. 

Lance moved on.

He went to where the fight sounded to be mainly. He found his platoon along with the others struggling. Lance kept hidden behind tents while the outskirts of the base were attacked. Lance checked how many bullets he had left.

He had three, but he also had bullets he stuffed into his pocket.

Lance took a breath before shooting.

 

Bang

Bang

Bang

 

All three shots landed on enemies and he went unnoticed as he ducked into a tent and reloaded. “Lance, what’re you doing?” He turned his head to Shiro for a moment before continuing the reload.

“I’m fighting as I should,” Lance turned back out of the tent, shooting his five shots, all landing with excellent accuracy before he hid in the tent again and reloaded. His mind willingly ignored the sprays of blood coming from their bodies and how he himself was dotted with a deep red. Shiro was facing the tent wall, and Lance assumed it was a hole he was looking through. 

Lance reloaded and aimed his gun again, taking in a slow breath and holding it as he shot five times into eight different people.

 

1, in the heart.

2, passing through the brain of two people.

3, in the lung.

4, passing through the heart of one and the brain of another.

5, passing through the eye of one and the throat of another.

 

Lance let go of his breath as he lowered his gun, watching as his platoon looked back at him. 

He did just take out the last eight soldiers attacking them. Lance watched behind them as two other soldiers were silently cocking their guns and aiming at Veronica.

He quickly loaded his gun with his last five rounds and shot one bullet through both men. Lance turned at the sound of running behind him, shooting the man running at him with a knife and running the bullet through the man’s hip before hitting him in the throat.

Lance took in deep breaths before lowering his gun and turning to his platoon who stared at him with wide eyes. “Still think I can’t fight?” Lance smirked as he raised his hand up, whipping his thumb over a spot of blood running down his cheek.

“We told you to stay put.” Rolo walked to Lance, hooking Lance's arm over his shoulder as Lance's knee buckled and he collapsed under his own weight.

“I did, for three seconds,” Lance smirked as Rolo rolled his eyes. “But I bet you're glad I didn’t stay.”

“Your damn right,” Rolo chuckled as he helped Lance back to the tent, the platoon following behind them.

“But that was risky. You could have lost balance and ended up dead,” Griffin scolded Lance. Lance rolled his eyes as Rolo helped him into their tent and sat him down on a cot. “Lance you really should go home.”

“No,” Lance barked back. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when there’s a war to fight.”

“You have no choice in this Lance,” Lotor barked back. “You’re going back. We have no room for injured men on our front lines.”

“Yet Rolo gets to stay?” Lance chuckled in disbelief. “Is it because I’m Cuban you piece of shit?”

“W-What?” Lotor stammered as Lance glared into his soul.

“You heard me,” Lance growled. “You’re just another racist piece of shit that doesn’t want a cuban boy around,” Lance’s face turned red in anger as he started to shout in spanish. “Eres un blanco inútil. ¡Pensando que eres mejor que yo y que la otra persona protésica puede quedarse porque él también es blanco! También puedo luchar, incluso mejor que tú, ¿por qué no te quitas ese palo del culo y lo metes por tu esófago? No tengo que recibir órdenes de tu culo blanco. Inútil hijo de puta.”

By the time Lance finished Kinkade was trying his best to hold in his laughter while the four others in his platoon looked downright confused at what Lance just said.

“You will not speak to me—”

“Cállate hijo de puta. Nadie pidió tu opinión. ¿Dices que eres el líder del pelotón? Los líderes lo respetan todo, así que aprende tu lugar, yo soy el capitán ahora.” Lance balled his hands into fists, looking at Kinkade who nodded at him in agreement. Lance stood from the bed, glaring at Lotor. “Got it puta?” Lance spat at him.

“I...I have no idea what you said you ignorant imbecile.” Lotor shot back. “Learn English, the language of Americans—”

“Why don’t you learn respect asshole. Maybe then you’ll know how to lead.” Lance growled as Lotor continued to glare at him. 

“I know how to lead.”

“If you did you wouldn’t have gotten Adam, Zethrid, or Ezor killed,” Lance barked. “Leaders know what’s best for the squad to ensure a high life factor, but you just throw the closest person of color into the line of fire. Don’t act like I didn’t see you try to stop those two guys aiming at my sister. I know you saw them, you were looking right at them.”

“I—”

“Shut up asshole. I’m in charge now.” Lance barked.

Lotor looked speechless for a moment before a menacing glare covered his face. “You are a man of little respect here, McClain. Stand down or I will use force.” Lotor cocked the handgun in his palm, but Lance stayed standing no matter how much his body ached to sit.

“I am a man standing up for my beliefs. Take my other leg if you want, but I won’t let you disrespect my culture or my people.” Lance curled his hands into fists, glaring at Lotor. He took a step forward, watching as Lotor flinched slightly as Lance snatched the gun from his hand and put the safety back on, unloaded the bullets onto the ground at their feet before placing the empty gun back into his hands. “You are no leader. You are a coward hiding behind flawed plans and human shields, refusing to see anyone else’s point of view.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance slowly walked through the base at night. He was hobbling, but he didn’t mind. He was getting better on his own. He could walk around without someone catching him if he fell. Lance softly smiled as he looked down at the letter in his hand.

“Hey, Lance!” He turned around, watching as Kinkade and Griffin ran up to Lance.

“Hi,” Lance gave a small wave as the two grinned at him.

“What’re you up to?”

“Just dropping off my mail at the supplies tent, I need to get this out as soon as I can,” Lance gave a small smile as he held up the letter.

“Us too,” Griffin smiled back and the three walked to the supplies tent. “The way you stood up to Lotor was awesome,” Griffin spoke causing Lance and Kinkade to look at him. “I was trying so hard not to laugh.”

“You know Spanish?” Lance lifted a brow as Griffin nodded.

“Nadia’s been teaching me for years now,” Griffin chuckled as Lance smirked.

“Lotors una perra ¿verdad?”

“Más como un chico de papá con problemas de mamá,” Griffin responded and Lance and Kinkade laughed. “Anyway, Nadia’s been mailing me about this apartment she got and can’t wait for me to fill the empty space in her bed.”

“Ina got a house. Like an actual house,” Kinkade chuckled. “That girl is mine and I honestly would be lost without her.”

“Keith got cats for us,” Lance mumbled.

“He hasn’t moved out yet?” Kinkade asked. Lance shook his head. “Why?”

“We were gonna buy a house together, but I think I want him to get one and show me it when I get back home.” Lance grinned.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Dear Samurai,

November 5, ‘43. I’m alive. I have been in my base since October and I am just now getting to write to you. I forgot what you looked like while in captivity, mostly because the only picture I have of you was the picture of your tattoo. I have no idea if I’ll be sent home or not, but if I have to continue this fight I will, if I’m sent home, I’ll make due. I miss you extremely and got your shipment of letters a few weeks ago. I’ve forgotten the shade of your eyes, but I refuse to give up on finding the shade. I love the cats, and I’m sure that wolf of yours will have no trouble with them. I’m excited to see everyone again when I return, and I hope I didn’t worry you too much for not answering for almost a year. I’m writing to you now in case I don’t have another chance to, so I’ll tell you to know when you see me again, my right leg will be wood.

I love you.

Also, pick out a house for us. You know the requirements.

Love, Sharpshooter

 

Keith clutched the letter in his hands, his whole being shaking down to the core as he stood at his mailbox, the envelope torn at his feet. Kosmo whined slightly at his feet, and Keith realized his reality. Lance—his Lance—was alive. 

Keith’s ears were ringing as he ran through the December snow and pushed himself into his house. He tripped on his shoes as he stumbled through his home to his room. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, shuffling to write down the first thing that came to mind before stuffing the letter into an envelope.

Keith sloppily wrote his return address and the address he was sending it to before pressing on a stamp. He ran down his stairs, licking the envelope closed before stumbling back out into the snow and shoving the letter into his mailbox. That mail was delivered yesterday, so his letter should be shipped out by that afternoon. 

Keith ran back into his house, clutching the letter Lance had sent him still in his hands as he ran into his living room and plopped down onto the couch. A ridiculously happy smile broke out onto his lips as He replaced the letter with a pillow. He pushed his face into the pillow, screaming loudly and happily.

“Keith, what happened?” He looked up from the pillow and to Krolia who tied the purple robe around her. “Don’t tell me that Lance...you know.” She led on, walking into the room. Keith shook his head quickly, sitting up as his mother sat down next to him. He stuffed the letter into her hands, watching as she read it, her eyes growing wider as she did. “This is—”

“Lance’s handwriting! It’s Lance! He’s not dead, he’s...he’s alive.” A soft smile broke on Keith’s face as Krolia handed him the letter. Keith looked down at it, running his thumb on the paper. “He’ll be coming home.”

“We should hope so,” Krolia softly smiled, placing her hand on Keith's shoulder. “Keep in contact with him, so you can make sure he doesn’t dive off again.” Keith nodded happily. “You should also go house hunting, sounds like he wants to come home to a bed that’s not in his parent's house.”

Keith nodded happily. “I’ll get on that!” Keith happily grinned and ran up to his room and got dressed as fast as he could. He ran back downstairs and picked up the keys by the door, stuffing an orange envelope full of money in his backpack. “I’ll be at the closest realtor place.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Krolia laughed as she stood from the couch and followed Keith outside to his motorcycle.

“We’ve got it all planned. Two floors with four bedrooms, two or three bathrooms. The downstairs has to have the master bedroom, living room, and kitchen with a large mingle space and a big backyard. The upstairs will have a guest bedroom and an office space for me and an astronomy room for Lance. It needs to have enough room to hold his entire family, you, us and all of our friends—”

“—Keith—”

“Then he wanted to decorate the master bedroom but since we went through every detail of how we wanted our house to look I know exactly what he wants. The area also has to be close to a school in case we adopt and it has to be close to our jobs, schools, and pet friendly—”

“Keith.”

“Yes?” Keith strapped his helmet on, looking at his mother as he sat on his bike and turned on the engine.

“Do you have enough money for a house?” Krolia asked. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to start with an apartment?”

“We’ve been saving up for years, Mom. We’ve got a lot of money.” Keith grinned before kicking his stand up and smiling at her. “I’ll be back later!”. He yelled before riding off.


	14. twenty days covered in red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm sorry for the long wait for an update. I just have no idea where I want to go with this story with the new season coming up so I'll try to finish it in four days.  
> LOVE YA'LL FOR WAITING!!

It took over twenty days for Keith to check off every detail on the list of requirements for him and Lance. The house was a nice baby blue color on the outside that wasn’t an eyesore. It was a ten-minute walk away from the train station that would allow Lance to go to college and was a fifteen-minute walk away from both Altea Academy and Galran Academy. It was in a nice neighborhood that held people of color on one side of the street and whites on the other, but it seemed to be an area with low crime activity.

The inside was run down. You walked in and were met with a large hallway that blocked off the flow from kitchen to living room to the outside, but Keith knew he wanted to restore the house. Below the stairs was the entrance to the large master bedroom, complete with doors to the outside that led to a private garden area for the two that was cut off from the rest of their lawn. The master bathroom was a fix up as well, seeing as the toilet was right behind the door, but Keith could fix that.

The upstairs was better designed. It had two rooms on the right side of the hallway and one of the left with the bathroom next to that one. The two on the right were in perfect view of the moon at night and were small enough to consider two offices. The other bedroom was big enough to hold at least three of their friends.

The paint was chipping from the cracked walls. Tiles were missing from the walls and floors and the floorboards were creaky and the carpet in the bedrooms was molded.

But it was a cheap house with a backyard that had a  _ pool _ . It was a small pool, but big enough for parties. Keith realized while in the process of buying the house that no one wanted it because of how much of a fixer upper it was.

But when the deed was handed over to Keith and he officially owned it, he happily embraced the flaws in the house he would cover up with the extra money he had and the money that was coming in from working.

So as soon as Keith had time off he was at the house blasting music from a radio he brought in, smashing down walls downstairs and pulling out carpet upstairs. He did get a permit to alter the house when he bought it since it was highly recommended he restore it before living in it.

He always went to the house alone to work on it, so it was no wonder he jumped when Hunk touched his shoulder and almost hit Pidge with his sledge hammer.

“You’re seriously restoring this place all on your own?” Romelle scoffed, crossing her arms. “That won’t happen in time for Lance coming home.”

“He’s the leader of his platoon now, so he won’t be back for a couple more months...years...decades,” Keith sighed, as he dropped his sledge hammer and started to pick up the debris on the floor.

“Do you want us to help you?” Hunk offered. “I can pull aside a small bit of money at the diner to get you some extra cash.”

“And we can help tear down walls,” Nadia grinned. Keith gave a small hum.

“That would be awesome.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Keith kept Lance updated on the work on the house. Twenty days after the first letter Keith informed Lance on the condition of the house. Three weeks after Keith bought the house, he informed Lance that the downstairs had finished the wall removal and Hunk got someone in to fix the plumbing in their bathroom to make it so the toilet was next to the sink instead of across from it.

Keith had to admit, the more they got done in the house, the more nervous he got about showing it to Lance. He was spending most of their money left over on renovating instead of buying furniture, which with a groan, he had to give that task to Romelle.

He hated the days she dragged him along to pick out which piece of furniture he liked more. 

“C’mon Keith it’s not that hard!” Romelle yelled over the sounds of floorboards being torn from the floor. “Do you want a leather or cushion couch!”   
“What the fuck is the difference!” Keith yelled back at her.

“You’re ridiculous!” Allura groaned, pulling the floorboard from under Keith's feet. Both girls snickered as Keith fell back, glaring at the two. 

Keith muttered curse words as he stood up from the ground, dusting himself off. “I don’t know how you expect me to pick anything when my mind is still fixated on getting this place built.”

“And once it’s built you’ll need to paint and design it! I’m just trying to speed it along.” Romelle crossed her arms. Keith sighed, pulling the mask covering his nose and mouth below his chin.

“Romelle I appreciate it, you know I do but I can’t help the fact that in the back of my mind I know Lance should be decorating this place. He said he wanted to when I got this idea into our heads.”

“That’s why I’ve been sending him letters dumby,” Romelle grinned and pulled out the letters from her small bag. She unfolded them and handed them to Keith who slowly looked through them. “It was just yes or no questions of what he wanted in each room and if he didn’t know he wrote in to ask you, so here I am.” She grabbed the letters from Keith’s hands and grinned at him. “So leather or cushion couches?”

Keith groaned, pulling his bangs out of his eyes before sighing. “Cushion. The cats and Kosmo will scratch up the leather.”

“Thank you~” Romelle sang before skipping her way out of the home.

Keith groaned, tilting his head to Allura. “Wanna keep tearing apart the floor?”

“Please. My army penpal is an ignorant douchebag who can’t take no for an answer,” Allura scoffed and pulled her mask up to her nose as Keith did and both continued to gut the floor.   
The two managed to rip out every floorboard, tile, and piece of plywood that covered the first floor in two days.

After the floors were ripped, walls were removed and carpets were torn out, Keith happily spent two weeks on his own filling the remaining cracks in the walls, replacing the plywood and floorboards and put down an off-white carpet. It was two weeks he spent imagining his life in the house with Lance. How in their tiny get-away-garden they would most likely cuddle until they were too cold. How Lance would convince Keith to skinny dip with him in their pool. Hopefully, one of them being allowed to adopt a little kid for them.

Keith was never a family man from being an orphan and an only child, but finding his mother changed that. He didn’t want as big of a family as Lance, but he could settle for a child or two.

When Keith filled the last crack in the wall, he happily grinned at his friends as they brought in cans of paint on a Saturday afternoon.

Hunk and Shay painted his kitchen and Ina and Nadia painted his dining room. Allura and Pidge called the living room and hallway to the master bedroom. Romelle oversaw it all, leaving Keith to help out his friends in any way he could.

“Are you going to ask Lance to marry you, Keith?” Pidge asked as she sat on the floor, grabbing the soda bottle with her name on it while turning down the music slightly.

Keith flushed at the question. “I...I don’t know. I don’t think I’m the marriage type. Hell, we’re probably going to be doing all this work just to have him leave me.”

“Don’t say that,” Romelle flicked Keith’s ear. “Besides, Lance will probably want to give you the ring, so don’t get any ideas.”

“If Lance did ask you to marry him, would you say yes?” Hunk looked back at Keith as the raven-haired boy stepped down from the ladder slightly to get more paint on his brush. “I  _ am _ Lances best friend so it’d be in your best interest not to lie to me.”

“If Lance did ask me,” Keith looked into the color in the can, a soft smile on his lips. “I’d say yes.” the blush on his face spoke faster than his words did, but Keith shook that away, turned to the wall and continued to lay down the color. “But it’s super illegal for us to get married so I don’t think it’ll happen.”

“You can always elope,” Pidge shrugged her shoulders.

“Whatever weirdo.” He snorted.

“Hey Pidge, could you tune into the war efforts channel?” Allura asked. Pidge silently did as she was told, turning up the volume when the channel came through the static.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance was scared to go home if he was completely honest. He was told he would be heading home on his third-year mark, and that for his discharge he would be paid heavily for the work he did.

It was January, and Lance found himself in a bind on what to write to Keith about the news that was happening in his camp.

 

That Lotor had gone berserk and wasn’t taking anyone’s commands.

That Shiro was now working  _ with _ them and would be staying until the war end.

That he was being sent  _ home _ .

Home, to Keith's arms and Keith’s hair and laugh that made his heart flutter.

 

But he couldn’t find himself to answer, so instead, he found himself answering Romelles questions about what he wanted in his guest room and astronomy room.

Lance bit his lip, sighing as he licked his envelope to Romelle closed. He set it down next to him and tapped his pen to his cheek as he thought of what to write Keith.

He wanted to tell Keith everything, but all he found himself writing was how he was scared to go back. Lance knew he shouldn’t be scared because he was going to Keith, but he still found himself writing about his fears about being integrated back into society.

He wondered if he would still be able to take astronomy classes and he wondered if he would be able to sleep at night without the sounds of gunshots ringing through his ears. He wondered if he would turn violent, and hell he feared that the most. He was scared he would come back and try to kill Keith in a violent hallucinogenic nightmare.

Lance bit his lip, sighing before scribbling down one last sentence before giving up and sealing the letter in an envelope. Lance sighed, running his hands up and down his face before standing from his cot and walking across the base to the supply tent to deliver his letters.

He set them down into the basket and hid them underneath the giant pile of love letters to people waiting for other soldiers to return home.

Lance sighed again before a small smile pulled on his lips at the thoughts of running into Keith's arms.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

When Keith opened the letter and read the last sentence, his heart stopped in his ribcage. His hands started to shake and his mind went numb as Hunk pried the letter from his hands and happily broadcasted the news to everyone else painting the upstairs.

“T-That leaves less than two months Romelle. We still need to work on the yard and that little garden area and I don’t have nearly enough money to furnish this entire place in  _ two months _ !”

Keith pulled at his hair as Romelle rolled her eyes. His mind went from numb to overwhelmed in a matter of seconds, and all Keith could do was have him mind scream at him about how unprepared he was.

“Keith you’re overreacting,” Allura chuckled, placing her hands on his shoulders. “We can help you with money, and we can all pitch in on different areas.”

“Yeah,” Nadia grinned. “I’ll go pick some weeds right now.”

“I’ll join you,” Shay and Ina spoke at once. The three women nodded at each other before walking past Keith and to the backyard. Keith took in deep breaths as Hunk, Pidge and Allura smiled at him.

“We can finish painting while you and Romelle go buy everything you need.”

“You guys are all too kind. I-I can’t…” Keith's voice failed.

“Keith, we insist.” Pidge smiled.

“It’s what friends do, and you and Lance deserve this.” Keith nodded his head slowly as a small smile broke on his lips. “Now go buy your furniture.”

Romelle grabbed Keith and dragged him out of the house and towards the car. Keith silently listened to Romelle as she listened off everything that they should buy that day so they could pick it up the next day. But he couldn’t help his wandering mind.

 

How his mind imagined Lance running to him and scooping him up into his arms.

How his mind imagined Lance's awestruck gaze at the finished house.

How his mind wandered to slow, desperate kisses and soft touches of their first time touching in almost three years.

To Lance hovering over him, bodies pressed close and moving in sync with each other. 

To feel his hands run through Lance's hair again and to stargaze next to a warm body again.

To have someone pester him about sleep, eating, and bathing while he works on his newest project.

Keith liked where his mind wandered, but it didn’t help Romelle in making final decisions.

 

When he did help, he chose something that had both of their personalities mixed into it.

Like a dark wood, long dining table. Dark wood for Keith and having it long for Lance’s family.

Like a dark oak wood bed frame with only blue sheets. The wood for Keith, the sheets for Lance.

The mattress had to be hard so Keith wouldn’t feel like he was suffocating but soft enough that it wouldn’t hurt Lance's right leg, or what remained of his right leg.

The couch had to be big enough to support most of the people that came over but small enough that it could easily be moved around if they wanted to change the room up.

The TV had to be big enough that everyone could see it but small enough that the light from it could easily be blocked if either fell asleep during a movie night.

Needless to say, Keith wasn’t very much help. But they got the bigger items like desks, tables, beds, and more all ordered and gotten ready for pick up when they needed them.

All that was left was small items like lamps, radios, dining utensils, and things that would be useful and needed in his home, but he got no say in it. Romelle did. He was fine with that. Lance was the one who wanted to design and purchase everything himself, so if she was talking to Lance, he was okay with he choosing whatever Lance wanted.

By the time Keith got back to the house, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura had finished painting the upstairs and everyone was working in the backyard.  They were gossiping loudly, each in a different section picking weeds, pulling shrubs and cutting down the grass that looked like it hadn’t been cut in a few years.  Keith laughed at the fact before he and Romelle joined in, and he felt a warm burst in his stomach.  Soon, Lance would be apart of this. The stupid jokes and witty remarks. The loud conversations and screaming arguments. He would be apart of it again, and that thought made Keith warm.

 

That the love of his life, Lance McClain, would be back in his arms in less than two months.


	15. i love you my darling

Lance, for the life of him, could not understand why his brain worked the way it did. Some days while in battle he decided his life was worthless and throw himself into harm’s way to make sure that no one else in his platoon was injured or killed. Other days he would order a full retreat for his platoon even if the others were staying and fighting, and those were the days where they lost half the soldiers on their playing field.

But right now, Lance was glad he was in a retreating mood.

He was lying on his stomach on the top of a hill, his gun in hand Lotor breathing down his neck, waiting to take over of Lance did one thing wrong. Lance took a slow breath, looking down from the side of the hill and aimed his gun down at the camp below them. He held his breath before motioning for Kinkade and Acxa to do the same.

Both soldiers took their place and aimed their guns before Lance counted down on his fingers and the three shot at the same time. The three quickly slid down the side of the hill with Rolo, Griffin, and Lotor while gunfire shot up at them. The six quickly hid behind separate trees and bushes in the forest as they watched German soldiers run up the side of the hill looking for them.

Lance held a finger to his mouth and four nodded while Lotor simply glared. Lance pushed his rifle in between his legs and grabbed his handgun at his hip. He turned his head around the side of the tree before shoot the three soldiers down and motioning with his fingers to keep moving.

Luck was on Lances side because Lotor listened and the platoon moved silently through the forest.

When they were miles from the German camp, Lance used a small break for water, reloading and to use the bathroom if need. Lance sat on a rock and reloaded his weapons while Acxa drank water. Kinkade and Griffin ran off to use the bathroom while Rolo reloaded his gun. Lotor simply glared at Lance.

Lance kept moving, refusing to look at Lotor as he said, “Problem, Lotor?”

“We shouldn’t stop this close to the enemy camp.”

“And why is that?” Lance cocked a brow up, giving Lotor a small glance before looking back down at his gun and continuing to put in bullets.

“They could come in and attack and we’d be left with—”

“We’d be left with our guns and Kinkade and Griffins shooting from behind. We’re fine resting here Lotor, we won’t be here for long. Just until the two get back.” Lance looked at Lotor before standing up from the rock he was sitting on and crossing his arms. “They get back, we ship out, head back to the camp and fulfill our mission.”

“But we didn’t hit all three targets—”

“Yes, we did. They were in meeting on the edge of camp, how hard could it be to not hit three targets all in one place.” Lance furrowed his brows before Lotor scoffed.

Lance smirked at this response as Lotor whipped his hair around, brushing Lance's stubbled chin.

Kinkade and Griffin returned quickly, buckling their pants up as they ran. They quickly reloaded their guns and the six took off again towards their camp with Rolos one minute pit stops to figure out directions on the map before bolting off again.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Two months turned into six weeks. Six weeks turned into four weeks. Four weeks turned into two weeks. Two weeks turned into a week.

That week made Keith go crazy. He ran rampant throughout his house to get everything ready. No one in his living room made an effort to stop him in prepping his home for Lances arrival, but they did stop him when he started to smell and refused to sleep in case Lance came in the middle of the night.

Romelle sat Keith down on the edge of his bed. Keith gazed at her, a tired look in his eyes. He hadn’t slept in two days, and Lance was due back either that day or the next. There was no way he was going to sleep through it. “Keith, you need to relax and sleep,” she let go of his shoulders, pulling out a bag of joints from her pocket. She pushed it into his palm and he looked down at it for a moment. “Lance will thank me later.”

Keith hummed as his hands took out a joint from the bag, taking the lighter Romelle was offering him and took in the smoke. He let it linger before he stood up and walked to his small hidden garden and breathed the smoke out. Keith looked at Romelle for a moment before giving a weak smile and sitting outside, curling Lance’s jacket around his body more.

Romelle sighed before leaving the room.

She walked out of the house, hoping Keith wouldn’t be too upset with her for this surprise. She walked down to her car and got in, letting out an exhausted sigh before driving off towards the train station.

She was the driver after all.

She parked her car and got out just as Allura, Hunk, and Pidge walked up to the station, giant signs in hands as Ina and Nadia came running towards them.

“Is he here yet? We have to ask him about James and Ryan.” Nadia happily grinned.

“No, he’s not,” Hunk grinned back. “But his train should be here in about ten minutes so we should get on the platform.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

When Lance boarded the boat two weeks ago to head back to America, he found his heart pounding against his ribcage. He was shaking and after spending months on learning how to walk again, he found it hard again. Rolo didn’t help with the fact that he was scared.

He was scared his friends and family wouldn’t look at him the same with missing pieces and torn flesh. He had a scar on his lip, eyebrow, and eye, and those were just the visual ones you could see over his clothes. Below his clothes, his chest and back were etched and carved with light skinned tissue that looked like it burned, especially the explosion mark on his back. But it didn’t hurt him.

The thing he was most scared of was the limp that followed with his prosthetic. Lance tried his best to keep it under control. To not let it show as much as Rolos limp did, and he succeeds at most times. If you didn’t know he had a wooden right leg, you wouldn’t have thought he did.

When Rolo and he got off the boat they were immediately ushered into a shuttle that took them to a train station, which then led them to a train to take them to their small town. Rolo remained quiet, and Lance knew why. Nyma was still out there. The girl that Rolo spent hours talking about marrying, was still out there fighting a good fight that Lance wished he could finish. Lance didn’t bother with small affirmations that she’d be alright, mostly because Rolo already knew this. He knew Nyma would be alright, and that she could take care of herself out there. Hell, Lance had seen Rolo training Nyma on how to use a gun multiple times.

“You excited to be back?” Lance asked instead.

“I’m just glad they kept me so long with this thing,” Rolo knocked his fist against his wooden left calf and Lance chuckled. “How about you? Excited to see that girl of yours?”

“I told you I don’t have a girl waiting for me. I’m just seeing my friends and family.” Lance leaned his arm against the armrest, holding his head up on his palm.

“Don’t act dumb with me space ranger,” Rolo laughed. “Almost everyone in the platoon has heard you talkin’ about a Keith in your sleep. Only one who hasn’t heard it is Lotor.”

“O-Oh,” Lance felt himself flush as he looked out the window to hide his face.

“You got something for guys?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Most people ain’t as kind as your platoon and friends.”

“I know. I’ve been called a fag by half my high school.” Lance turned his head back to Rolo. “I’ve been beaten up for acting feminine and I’ve been nearly punched to death for hangin’ on my friends like I usually do.”

“Do you stop?”

“Fuck no. Why should I care what others think?” Lance laughed. Rolo smirked and nodded as the moonlight light up their carriage in the train.

“We should get some shut eye. We got at least another ten hours before we get back.”

Lance silently agreed.

When the woke up the next morning they had to only wait two hours before they were at their train station. Rolo had his mother getting him, while Lance knew Romelle would be his ride.

So when he stepped off the train he and Rolo didn’t expect the welcoming they got. 

“Now in the station, war heroes; Rolo and Lance. Welcome home boys.”

Lance gave small waves as the people in the station parted for the two. They both shyly gave waves, a small pink tint on their faces from the unexpected welcome. Rolo placed his hand on Lance's shoulder and pointed his thumb to a woman who Lance could only assume was his mother. Lance nodded and the two shared a brief hug before Rolo ran over to her and collect the woman into his arms.

Lance smiled at it before turning around and stopping in his path. He felt his eyes water at the sight in front of him.

Hunk was holding a large sign high up in the air with Lance's name plastered proudly on it. Allura was holding a large bundle of blue Forget-Me-Nots and purple Morning Glories. Nadia and Ina were standing politely by them with large grins and Pidge was containing the excitement of Romelle bouncing in her spot.

“Lance!” Pidge shouted, waving her small arms around. “Welcome home!”

Before Lance knew what he was doing he was running to his friends and collapsing into their arms, a giant grin on his face as happy yips of laughter escaped his throat. He took in the sight of all of his friends and his heart exploded with happiness. Allura looked so regal and so did Romelle with their long hair cascading to their hips. Pidge looked downright like a guy and it would have thrown Lance off if she wasn’t in a green dress. Hunk looked bigger, but all Lance cared about was that his chest was still the perfect place to rest his head in a hug.

When Lance pulled away he heard his friends hiss at the scars dotting his face. Lance just chuckled, scratching the nape of his neck. No one spoke as they looked at his scars, but he felt Pidge take his hand as if she was testing if he was even real. Lance didn’t even feel like this moment was real. He felt like he would wake up from a dream.

Lance squeezed Pidges hand, giving her a soft and warm smile. “I’m really here Pidgeon.”

Pidge scoffed and rolled her eyes, scrunching up her nose as she let go of Lance's hand and crossed her arms. “You look ugly with all those scars.”

Lance gasped loudly, throwing a hand to his chest as he fell back against Hunk. “I am  _ hurt, _ Pidge. I just fought for your country and you dare say I’m ugly?” Pidge stuck her tongue out at Lance and the boy chuckled as he stood up. “Besides, there’s a lot more where that came from.”

Lance patted his right leg, and suddenly all attention was on it. No one spoke for a moment. “Did it hurt?” He looked at Nadia. “To get it cut off?”

“Yeah. I was awake while they were doing it,” Lance sighed, shaking his head slightly. “But it hurt a lot more having it. I’m fine now but I just, wish my leg didn’t get so injured.” Nadia nodded and Lance gave her a small smile. He caught the glint in both of the woman’s eyes and gave a large warm smile to them as they walked out of the train station. “Your boys are okay. They’re strong and get in less danger than me.”

“That’s surprising considering James is a complete moron.” Nadia laughed.

“Trust me, the only danger they got in was when we started cursing Lotor out in Spanish.” Lance chuckled and Nadia groaned, mumbling something along the lines of ‘of course you did’. “So is Keith at our house?”

That made Lance's stomach twist. The idea that Keith was at their house. A house that held a new life. Romelle nodded happily and Lance smiled at her. “But first we need to go to a few places.”

“Like?” Lance lifted a brow, his smile falling.

“Like the Atlas and to sign you up for some college courses in astronomy.” Romelle tugged on Lance's arm.

“C’Mon Romelle I’ve been waiting three years to see Keith,” Lance whined with a small groan and laugh as she tugged him to her car as Hunk took the bags from his hands put them in her trunk.

“You know he can wait just a few more hours. Now let’s go!” Romelle grinned. Lance couldn’t complain. These were his friends. The people who always had his best interest at heart even if he didn’t like it.

They went to the college campus first, and Romelle made triple sure it was the one Lance could take the train to. After two hours of registration, Lance happily announced that due to his military statues he got in and was starting classes in the fall. He would be the oldest in his classes, but Lance didn’t mind. He was doing something he loved.

Romelle then took him to the Atlas Diner. Hunk was there in the kitchen, and Allura, Pidge, and Shay were all working as waitresses. Lance felt his heart tingle at the sight of his own best friend having his own business. That Hunk was just that successful. Romelle and Lance ate lunch together. It was full of loud conversations about how to surprise Keith and hushed whispers about what happened out there.

By the time lunch ended for them, Lance had been fully committed to the idea that he didn’t need a big surprise for Keith. He just needed to walk into the house and Keith would be crying.

He was very,  _ very _ sure about the crying.

Romelle, no matter how many times Lance begged her to, refused to take him to the house. She said it needed to be later, so Keith had time to make a worried dinner like he had been doing for the past week. Every attempt was unsuccessful and ended in burned crisps.

So instead Romelle to Lance to the smaller attractions.

To Lance's house to get warm welcomes from his parents who, by his surprise, cried when they saw him. They spoke softly in Spanish to him, and for the first time in a long time, Lance realized how homesick he had gotten.

“Mama I’m okay,” Lance softly spoke as his mother cupped his jaw in her hands.

“ Estás tan asustado ahora. Solías ser tan guapo y ahora ... ahora tienes estas marcas de personas que intentaron matarte. No deberías haber perdido tu pierna. Mi hijo, lo siento mucho.” She spoke softly, small tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Lance gave a small chuckle, taking his mother’s hands in his. “I’m alive. I’m okay.”

“Lance,” he looked over at his father. Lance straightened his back, watching as he grew taller than his father slightly. Lances eyes widened as his father pulled Lance down and squeezed him in a hug. “You’re home. 

Estás en casa, Lance. Querido Dios, estás en casa y gracias a Jesús y a Dios todopoderoso por traer a mi hijo a casa con vida.”

Romelle stayed quiet with a small smile of hope on her cheeks. She didn’t know why this family loved her so much, because from her standpoint Lance’s family should have hated her, yet the pulled her into their hug and thanked her for bringing their son home.

After an hour of talking and Lance finding that none of his clothes fit him the same, they left. Romelle and Lance played music while they drove, picking Lance up a few shirts, shoes, pants, and jackets before she drove them off into the nearby woods. 

 

In those woods, was a cemetery.

 

She took him to Rachel’s grave. Romelle stayed in the car, allowing Lance to have some alone time to grieve. It was an hour before Lance returned back to the car, his face red from crying but his eyes didn’t puff. She didn’t question it but came to the conclusion that it was because of the scars around them.

“Where to next?” Lance asked, staring straight ahead as Romelle drove them around. His hand was clutching his pants leg.

“Do you want to see the flowers?”

“I’d like that.”

So Romelle took him to his old work. The flowers smelled just as nice and looked as beautiful as the day Lance left, and all Romelle could do was watch as Lance picked out a very special bouquet for Keith, swearing it would bring beauty to the house Keith had spent restoring. Picking the flowers took over two hours. At the end of the two hours, Lance had also gained that job back and by then, Romelle was on her way to take Lance to Keith.

Lance stood outside the front for a moment, taking in the soft baby blue color. He smiled and walked through the white door and a smile crept onto his face as he looked around. The kitchen flowed into the living room with a small breakfast nook that separated the kitchen from the dining room. 

The rooms were beautifully decorated, and Lance couldn’t help his smile. He wanted to go upstairs, but instead, Romelle pushed him towards the downstairs bedroom, which she told him was the master bedroom.

He walked slowly down the hallway, looking at all the photos hung carefully on the wall. He hugged the flowers closer to his chest as he slowly opened the door to his bedroom.

He was greeted with the smell of weed and the sounds of small whimpers.

He opened his door further and looked around the room before noticing it was empty, but the double glass doors were open. Lance walked to the dresser next to the door, taking a vase with plastic flowers in it and filling it with water before setting his flowers in it.

He walked towards the double doors, his eyes gazing over Keith as he threw the bag of blunts to the ground and held one to his lips, sitting with his legs over the armrest with tear streaks down his face. Keith was mumbling to himself, but Lance could hear how Keith was mumbling about him. 

Keith turned his head to Lance, blinking his tears before taking another huff and blowing it at Lance. “Hello, hallucination.” Keith giggled slightly, looking down at his lap. “God you must really be dead if I’m imagining you here right now.”

“I’m not dead, Keith,” Lance sighed. He stepped forward, sitting down next to Keith. Their little garden was decorated in grapevine fences holding different colorful flowers. Keith hummed in response.

“Whatever hallucination,” Keith mumbled.

Lance rolled his eyes, a devious smirk on his lips. “You’re right, I am just a hallucination, a hallucination of someone who cares about you.” Lance took Keith’s hand in his, causing the raven-haired boys violet eyes to widen.

Right, his eyes were violet. 

 

Lance gave Keith a soft smile. “If you want Lance to come home—”

“Lance is dead.”

“No he’s not,” Lance rebutted. “You just need to have hope.”

Keith was silent for a moment before nodding his head slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay good,” Lance breathed out. He squeezed Keith’s hand before standing up and guiding Keith to his feet. “If you want Lance—”

“You.”

“Right. If you want me to come home you need to clean up a little.” Lance gave a soft smile. “So you need to stop this—” Lance took the blunt from Keith’s hand and put it out. “—Take a shower and go to bed.”

“Will you come with me?” Keith flushed and Lance couldn’t help but blush too.

“If you do it on your own I’ll cuddle you when you get out.”

“Okay,” Keith gave a small smile, letting go of Lance's hand and walking into the bathroom. Lance softly smiled and sat on the bed and looked around his room—their room. Lance found himself wandering.

The two double glass doors to their private garden sat across from the bathroom door. In between the two sets of doors was their bed, complete in a Queen size mattress and blue sheets. Across from the bed was a deep oak colored dresser with pictures and flowers sitting on it. One side was full of Keiths folded clothes, the other barely holding anything that would fit Lance, but still, a few things fit.

By the bathroom door was a small closet, that held Keith’s hang up clothes and a few that could fit Lance.

All Lance could do was smile at how well Keith and Romelle designed the room. The dark oaks of furniture, blues of the fabrics around the room, and the cream color of the walls all but made the room feel more like Lances home rather than just a room.

Twenty minutes later, Keith walked out of the bathroom in his red boxer briefs and Lances olive jacket.

Lance hated to admit it, but he liked that look on Keith. The dazed look in his eyes with his pale skin showing in every way it could without it being sexual. Keith lied down under the sheets and Lance chuckled as Keith nuzzled his face into the pillow. Lance lied down next to him as Keith turned his head to him while Lance kicked his shoes off the side of the bed and shed his jacket to his shoes, kicking both items under the bed. Keith slowly opened his eyes, tracing Lances features before pulling at Lance's shirt.

“Take it off,” Keith whined.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Lance softly laughed.

“Please take it off,” Keith whined. Lance shook his head in laughter before stripping off his shirt and lying down. Keith moved closer to Lance, nuzzling his face into his shoulder and neck. Lance laughed, softly wrapping his arm around Keith. “I miss Lance,” Keith mumbled into Lance's neck.

“He’ll be back soon,” Lance smirked. When Keith woke up, Lance knew he’d be pissed.

“How soon?”

“Sooner than you think.”

They lied in silence, and Lance was convinced Keith fell asleep but was mistaken when Keith spoke, his fingers tracing the scars on Lance's chest. “Does my Lance have these?”

“Yes.”

“Do they hurt ‘im? ‘Cause if they do I’ll go over there and beat them up for hurting my Sharpshooter.”

Lance chuckled at this. “No, they don’t hurt.”

Keith hummed, his fingers running over the names on Lance's ribs. “He got more than Rachels?” Keith questioned, looking up at Lance.

“Yeah, he did,” Lance sighed before Keith nuzzled his face into Lance's chest again.

“When...When you get back,” Keith stifled a yawn. “I wanna fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

“Go to bed Keith,” Lance laughed out, blush turning his face completely red. 

“Goodnight Lance.”

“Goodnight Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah.
> 
> Theres one more chapter left then this fic is over. its been a great project for me and I've loved every moment of it!
> 
> but alas  
> RIP KLANCE  
> 2016-2019


	16. welcome home

Keith woke up to the smell of bacon and waffles with the sound of soft conversation mixed in with the sizzling of grease popping. Or at least he thought it was a conversation. Keith rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms into his eyes before sliding out of bed. He stood up, stretching his arms up as his eyes landed on the red flower vase on the dresser with  _ alive _ flowers in it. Keith ignored it, running his hands up and down his face. He slowly walked out of his room as he lowered his hands from his face. He stopped in his tracks when he turned into the kitchen. His eyes widened as he watched the person standing in his kitchen.

His hips were swinging to music playing and he was pushing the bacon around the pan with a spatula. He was humming to himself. He wore low hung gray sweatpants on his hips and an unbuttoned blue flannel. His hair was flared in all directions and all Keith could do was stare at him.

“Lance?” Keith breathed out, his voice cracking slightly.

The Cuban man turned to Keith, flashing a bright smile at him. “Hey Mullet. I hope you don’t mind me making breakfast. You were passed out and you looked so cute that I didn’t want to wake you.”

Keith was speechless as Lance leaned over to Keith and planted a soft kiss on his cheek before continuing to cook. “Y-You—when—when did you get here!” Keith was loud, louder then he intended to speak.

“Don’t yell,” Lance pretended to wince before chuckling, “And last night. I brought you flowers if you didn’t see those in the room.”

“Wait so you—”

“I wasn’t an illusion,” Lance chuckled as he turned the stove off, pushing the bacon strips onto a plate and taking a paper towel and dabbing some of the greases off the food.

Lance turned his back to Keith for a moment, but the feeling of Keith beating a fist to his back made him stop his action. He looked back at Keith, watching as the boy took a step back, balling up the sleeves on his arms in his hand and wiping his eyes that continued to tear up.

“You dick,” Keith muttered. Lance watched Keith silently, watching as angered tears built up in his eyes. Lance took note in how Keith was shaking and trying his best to hold back tears. “You… I was convinced you died last night Lance. I thought I would never see you again and I… I…” Keith took a shuddered breath before glaring into Lance's soul. “You’re a dick.”

“Keith I—”

Before Lance could respond Keith had wrapped his arms around Lance's neck, hugging the man down to him and letting soft hiccups leave his lips and into Lance's shoulder. Lance slowly wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist before lowering his head and digging his nose into Keith’s shoulder. They both held each other in the silence of the kitchen, the only sound filling their ears being the soft thuds of Kosmo running around upstairs and the sound of tiny meows from the living room.

“Welcome home you dumbass,” Keith mumbled into Lance's shoulder after a few minutes of embracing in each other. How the familiar scents had never changed. How the feeling of soft skin on gentle fingertips had not changed, nor the feeling of how they’re swaying was still a small dance all their own. The only thing that changed was Lance had gotten taller and more scarred up, while Keith was more muscular, and had the scar on his cheek.

“It’s good to be home,” Lance turned his head on Keith's shoulder, kissing Keith’s neck. “I missed you so much. I dreamt of you every night and prayed every morning that I’d see you again.” Lance kissed Keith’s neck, trailing soft kisses up his jaw, over the scar and to Keith's lips.

The kiss was small. It lasted a moment but it was a long needed moment. I moment both men had been waiting for. Lance slowly pulled away, standing up straight and looking at Keith, watching as he was speechless. Keith narrowed his eyes before pushing up slightly and pressing his lips to Lances. They’re lips locked perfectly, and Keith couldn’t be happier at that moment. 

He lowered back onto his feet and slowly let go of Lance's neck, stepping back slightly and crossing his arms. “Are we eating breakfast or what?”

“Of course,” Lance grinned happily, turning to the counter and picking up the two plates and setting them down at the table. Keith sat down as Lance grabbed silverware before sitting down across from Keith. 

As they ate they kept a small, quiet conversation. Keith asked about Lances platoon. Lance asked about how Hunk and Shay met. Keith asked about the tattoo. Lance asked about Keith’s. Keith asked about Rachel’s final moments. Lance asked about how Kosmo and the kittens got along. Keith asked about Lances leg.

“Did it hurt?” Keith asked as he picked at the small scraps on his plate. “To get it cut—were you awake for it?"

“I was,” Lance spoke softly. “But it hurt more having it then living without it. Those Nazi bastards cut my leg so if we left I’d be slowed down, but that didn’t stop me or the infection.” Lance lifted his head slightly, looking past Keith and watching as Kosmo came running down the stairs. He ran to the table, nudging his head to Keith's leg and Keith sighed, placing his plate on the floor.

“Did it hurt to get it cut?”

“Matt and Sam tried to make sure I wouldn’t hear anything, but it didn’t work. It hurt like a bitch, I bit through two belts and nearly clawed through Veronica's hand. They tried to put me on anesthetics, but they didn’t have time to wait for it to kick it.” Lance watched as Kosmo licked off the plate before trotting to Lance then stopping. Lance watched as Kosmo sniffled the prosthetic before looking up at Lance. 

Kosmo set a paw on Lance's thigh before moving it and resting his head on Lances lap. Lance softly smiled and ran his hand through Kosmo’s fur before setting the empty plate on the floor.

“Kosmos going to be a big ol’ fatty if we keep feeding him scraps.” Lance chuckled, trying his best to change the subject.

“Its only on Saturday mornings that I feed him my extras. That’s why he was so excited this morning.” Keith softly smiled before looking from Kosmo to Lance. “Let's go to The Atlas.”

“We just ate,” Lance laughed while Keith rolled his eyes, leaning his arms on the table. 

“I mean for lunch,” Keith chuckled. “You can see Hunk and Shay and I can bother Romelle while she serves us.” Keith stood up and picked up the plates from the floor before walking into the kitchen and washing them off. “Or we can go for dinner.”

“Why don’t we go for dinner? I want to spend some time with you alone.” Lance stood up, walking into the kitchen and wrapping and wrapping his arms around Keith's waist, laying gentle kisses on the boy's neck. 

“L-Lance we don’t have time for this,” Keith stammered as he turned the water to the sink off.

“Of course we do,” Lance mumbled. “ Te quiero mucho, Keith. No quiero perderte más.”

“Lance you know how I feel when you speak Spanish to me,” Keith bit his lip, wiping his hands off before resting them on Lances that were on his waist. They swayed to their own song as Lance continued to speak in his native tongue.

“Quiero estar contigo para siempre. Nunca quiero pasar otro momento sin ti a mi lado. Mi amor, mi amor, mi querido amor Keith, ¿serás mío para siempre?” Lance blushed as the words so simply left his lips, lifting his head to watch as Keith didn’t even know what they meant. How he meant every word he said. “Cásate conmigo, mi amante y nunca te dejaremos de nuevo.”

Keith hummed, turning his head slightly to Lance as they swayed to their own music on the kitchen. “Lance?”

“Y-Yes.” Lance stammered, his eyes catching the violet he missed seeing. 

“Get off me, I have to go for my run.” Keith’s face dropped quickly and Lance laughed, missing the quick emotional changes of his Mullethead. He let go of the boy's waist and gave him one last kiss on the cheek before watching Keith walk into their bedroom.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Keith was gone and Lance was left pacing his bedroom with the small distance the cord on the phone would allow him to. He pulled at his hair as he listened to the rings on the other end before he heads the click of an answer. “Atlas Diner. We make it you eat it, what can I make for you this morning?” A sweet voice answered. 

Lance relaxed into it. “Allura, I need to talk to Hunk.” Lance lied down on his bed, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes as he counted the smudges in the skylight above his bed. “Like right now.”

“Hunk’s busy dealing with a wrong order —What’s going on?”

Lance bit his lip before letting out a deep exhale. “I really want to marry Keith.”

“That's great!” Allura happily giggled.

“I just...I just don’t know how to do it,” Lance let his breath escape him as Blue and Red jumped up onto the bed and curled up by his chest. Lance ran his hand through their fur. “I want to do it as soon as possible and he’s taking me to the Atlas for dinner—”

“Then do it here,” Allura happily replied, a soft tone in her voice. “We can close out shop early and all have dinner together and you can do it then.”

“But I don’t have his ring size—”

“I got that covered, okay? Just make sure he wears something decent for the photos.” Allura giggled, leaving Lance to smile softly. He heard the small click of the front door opening followed by heavy breathing. “Oh, this’ll be so nice! We’ll make it memorable.”

“I-I have to go, he’s back,” Lance quickly rushed out the words as he sat up on the bed, hearing Keith yell for Lance. He quickly hung up, watching as Keith walked into the room with a small grin. “Hey,” Lance smiled, running his hands through the kitten's fur.

“Hi,” Keith smiled, walking to the bed and leaving a small kiss on Lance's cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower then we can head out before we go to dinner. Kay?”

“Okay,” Lance smiled, giving Keith's lips a small peck before watching him walk away into the bathroom, and all Lance knew was that he would gladly wake up every day next to that man.

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

Lance stared at himself in the mirror. His gaze was fixated on the unbuttoned gray buttons on his baby blue shirt that was neatly tucked into his gray slacks. His suspenders were buckled in and laying against his legs and all Lance could hear was the end of the water running in the bathroom. He watched as Keith walked out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair with one towel while another one was wrapped nicely around his waist.

Keith eyed Lance up and down before shaking his head and giving a small scoff. “You don’t need to dress up for me, Lance.” Keith walked to his dresser, dropping his towel at his feet before reaching into the top drawer and pulling out his underwear. 

Lance quickly turned around, blush to scorch his face as he kept his eyes on his wooden foot covered in a white sock. “I-I haven’t been able to dress up in three years. It feels nice.”

Keith hummed in response. Lance bit his lip as he felt arms wrap around his waist, feeling small kisses nip at the side of his neck. “You look nice.”

“K-Keith…” Lance looked up into the mirror, noticing how keep had unzipped pants on and a red button up threw onto the bed. “And you make fun of me for dressing up.” Lance lightly scoffed, watching as Keith rolled his eyes before letting go of his waist.

“You can dress up if you want, but I want to look good for you.” Keith walked to the bed as he zipped up his pants, then sliding on his shirt. Keith smirked as lance giving the boy only a moment to respond before he was pushed down to the bed with his wrists held down by Keith. Keith smirked down at Lance, giving a small peck on his cheek before backing away from the bed and pulling out shoes from the closet. “Three years in Germany and I can still take you down.”

“I-I wasn’t ready!”

“Say whatever you want Loverboy.”

 

⌯⌲⌯⌲⌯⌲

 

The wind was fluffing up his hair as he rode down the street, his engine humming louder than the music blasting from the speakers by his ears. He felt arms tighten around his waist as he twisted around a corner, running in and out of the cars going at speeds that wouldn’t be possible by walking. Keith stopped at a red light, feeling the head dug into his shoulder slowly lift up. Keith chuckled as Lance groaned. “Are you done torturing me yet?”

“I promised I would take you on a ride.” Keith laughed, speeding up as the light turned green and rushing through the streets until he reached the Atlas. Lance was quick to jump off the bike, glaring at Keith as he threw his helmet at Keith’s chest.

“I am not going on your devil machine again!” Lance shouted as Keith set his bike to park and stepped off of it, picking up his helmet from the ground and clipping it to the handlebar. “Not if you drive like a maniac!”

“But you would go on it again?” Keith lifted a brow as he stepped to Lance, taking his hand in his. Lance glared at Keith before shoving his hand away and walking into the diner. “Oh come on! You can’t be mad at me for driving fast!” Keith laughed as he followed Lance into the Atlas.

“You were a maniac!” Lance yelled back, a small smirk on his face as he twisted on his heel in front of the small bar. The diner was empty besides for their friends.

“I was driving!” Keith crossed his arms. “You can’t be mad at me for driving.”

“What’s this about—” Romelle was cut off.

“You turned us to the side every time we took a turn! My leg could have been ripped off.” Keith lowered his arms, Lance biting his lips as he realized his words. “Uh no wait—”

“I’m sorry,” Keith mumbled, stepping closer to Lance and wrapping his arms around the boy. “I forget about your leg sometimes when it’s just us being us. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I’m still me. We just have to be more careful with a wooden leg.” Lance softly laughed, squeezing Keith in his arms before smiling at him. “Let’s just eat and have a good time, okay?”

“Okay.” Keith grinned back.

“That has to be the fastest makeup I have ever seen,” Pidge spoke, wiping her hands on her dress to clean them from dirt and grim of handling food all day. “Especially from you two.”

“Hey, spending so much time apart can bring great trust for relationships,” Allura chuckled as she left the kitchen, bumping her hip with Lances as she set plates down at the booth set up for them to eat at. “It can also make people grow closer to an understanding of each other.”

“Like Shiro said,” Lance spoke as Hunk was walking out of the kitchen with the rest of the food. “Patience yields focus.”

“How’s he doing?” Hunk asked as he set down the food as everyone crowded into the booth.

“He’s staying there until the end of the war.” Lance grinned softly. “But with any luck, he’ll be back here sooner.” Lance ran his free hand on the cold leather of the booth seat. He looked around himself for a moment.

It was hard for him to believe he was home. A part of himself told him not to get comfortable, that he would wake up in pain and would be back on the battlefield fighting the people who wanted to enslave others.

He looked around the table. 

At Hunk to his left. The man he wished he’d seen grow an empire for food making that brought people together. He had stubble on his chin and his hair held back and out of his face by his orange headband, his hand held in Shays. Shay looked wonderful. Her hair was held back in a bun, one that matched her boyfriends.

Next to Shay was Allura. She hadn’t aged a day in his eyes. How her small triangle birthmarks under her eyes hadn’t moved since he’d left. How her bangs were held back and her hair cascaded down her back like the elegant lady she was. He felt a blush creep up the back of his neck when he thought of his old crush on her, but he was happy now seeing her with Romelle. The two looked wonderful together.

Romelles hair was short, held half up and she looked younger than when he last saw her. She looked just as elegant as Allura, even with the small burns under her eyes from her horrid old neighborhood. The scar snot even masking a wrinkle on her face as she smiled at him.

He looked at Pidge, who looked more grown up then all of them combined. His heart clenched when he first saw her, mostly because he didn’t think it was her. She had grown into a figure he didn’t even know she had. 

“Lance?” He felt a squeeze on his hand, turning his head and looking at Keith with a small smile. 

The man he fell in love with. The man that was by his side through it all, the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs. Through all the miles, and Lance couldn’t be happier to call this man his. A man who was adamant about coming to school covered in grease from fixing his bike who was now well dressed in a button up that made the purple of his eyes pop.

Purple. Lance had never been more in love with a color.

“Y-Yes?” Lance swallowed down the nerves growing in his stomach.

“Let's eat. For as much time as you spent on the battlefield, you’re still all lanky.” Keith gave a small laugh, and all Lance could do was smile.

They all ate happily. Hunk shared about his crazy day in the kitchen with the widest smile on his face. Allura and Shay would butt in from time to time to add detail and Lance listened happily. The stories spread around the table. Bouncing to Allura and her crazy weekend three months ago where she drunkenly called a stranger Romelle. Pidge shared about her latest tech gadget and all Lance could do was smile at his friends.

“What about you Lance?” Romelle asked. “Any stories?”

“I’ve got a lot,” Lance chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck. “A lot of bad ones.”

“Well tell a good one.” Pidge laughed as if it was obvious.

Lance sighed, thinking back to a happy memory.

His smile grew slightly before he started to share. “On one of our first days, we were taught how to sword fight in case we had to. We made a little song and sang it while we practiced, and it made the mood a little happier.”

“Can you show us and sing us? I’ve missed your obnoxious singing.” Allura asked. Lance slowly nodded, scooting out of the booth and grabbing a cutting knife from the kitchen, along with grabbing a small velvet box. He stood in front of the booth and grinned.

“I will need a volunteer.” Lance smiled, looking at Keith. The male rolled his eyes, standing up and looking at Lance. “Pull out your knife. You always have it.”

“Fine,” Keith laughed pulling out his knife.

Lance grinned. He took a deep breath before he got himself into position. His voice sounded Angelic in Keiths ears.

“Keep your stance wide, keep your body lowered and as you're moving forward balance is the key. Right foot; left foot,” Lance took a step forward, hitting the small knife against Keith’s blade before he began to move quicker with each word he sang. “Now go even faster and as you're moving backward keep your eyes on him.

“Everything you have, everything you are you've got to give on the battlefield. When everything is chaos and you have nothing but the way you feel, your strategy and a sword.” Lance turned Keith around hitting their knives harder and harder together as if they were really at war. Keith could barely keep up. “You just think about the life you'll have together after the war and then you do it for her. That's how you know you can win. You do it for her, that is to say, you'll do it for them.” Lance smirked as he sang, watching as Keith was in awe what to do as the two had a small sword fight in front of their friends. 

“Deep down you know you weren't built for fighting but that doesn't mean you're not prepared to try. What they don't know is your real advantage. When you live for someone you're prepared to die. Keep your stand wide, keep your body lowered, as your moving forward, fight for what is right. You know, deep down, that you can win this. You will do it for the person you love most. That's how you know you can win. You do it for her, that is to say. You'll do it for them.”

Lance elbowed Keith in the side as he did in battle with enemies, tensing the muscles in his body to drop the weapon. Lance quickly swung and grabbed the knife before it hit the ground. Lance stopped singing, his knife held at Keith's neck as Keith's blade was in Lance another hand behind his back. Lance smirked as Keiths eyes went wide.

Lance took a step back, smiling at Keith before handing the man his blade back and setting the other knife down on the diners bar. The two sat back down as the others clapped and hollered at Lance.

“I haven’t heard your singing in a while, kind of missed it.” Pidge softly smiled and Lance grinned. “What was all that she and he and them thing about?”

“The She and Thems were our families back home and the other side only had male recruits. When I was along I...I sang 'him' instead. It kept me calm.” Lance blushed slightly as Keith held his hand. “I...We kind of all made that song in a sit down by the fire the first week in. I didn’t write about it because it was an army thing. It could be our thing. I think Griffin wrote the lyrics down.”

“Well, that’s sweet.” Allura smiled. “It must have been lonely.”

“It...It was. That’s why I sang it on my own and said 'him'.” Lance gave a small smile to Allura before turning his head to Keith, his hand going into his pocket for the box. “Keith I...I don’t want to be alone anymore. This war told me that. Will you marry me?” Lance pulled out the box, showing the small ring Allura had picked out in a days notice.

“H-How did you —”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Lance we can’t afford to buy this ring.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Lance gave a small nervous smile. “Will you marry me?”

“I...of course you dummy.” Keith wrapped his arms around Lance, both of them letting small tears of joy leave their eyes as their friends cheered for them.

In Lance's eyes, this was the best way to end a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING


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